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EMPTY    CRIB 

^  Mzvxoxml  of  Eittle  ©eorgi'e. 


WITH   WORDS    OF    CONSOLATION  FOR 
BEREAVED  PARENTS. 


BY 

/ 

REV.  THEO.    L.  CUYLER, 

BROOKLYN. 


NEW  YORK: 
R.  CARTER  AND   BROTHERS, 

530,  Broadway. 


Eutered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1868,  by 

ROBERT   CARTER    AND    BROTHERS, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District 
of  New  York. 


University  Press  : 
John  Wilson  &  Son,  Cambridge. 


\ths 


/'^ 


GEORGE   SIDNEY  CUYLER, 


ONE  OF  THE  TWIN   CHILDREN  OF 


Rev.  Theodore  L.  and  Annie  E.  Cuyler 


Born  in  Brooklyn,  July  9,  1863. 
Went  Home  to  Heaven,  April  19,  1868. 


The  one  sJiall  he  taken^  and  tJie  other  left,** 


i'A'^'^^  *..' 


dhn  so  h  is  not  i^z  foiU  of  gonr  J^at^er  fofeic^  is  i« 
^ea&ert,  t^al  ont  of  l^jse  liltle  ojt^s  sl^oulir  ptris^. 


"W^o  f  hocked  tJiat  Flower  .?" 

CRIKO    THH    GARDENER,   AS    HE  WALKED    THROUGH    THE   GARDEN. 
HIS      FELLOW-SERVANT      ANSWERED, 

"THE   MASTER  I" 

AMD     THB     GARDENER     HELD     HIS     PEACE. 

[Inscription  in  an  old  English  churchyard.] 


%xits  l^eg  s^all  be  mine,  sail^  t^e  ^ax'it  of  ^osts,  in  l^al 
ban  foljcn  |  ntalw  up  mn  jefoela. 


"^Jj? 


Page 

Memorial 9 

A  Child  in  the  Midst 107 

God's   Bitter   Cups   for   Sick   Souls    .     .  115 

Our  Baby 124 

Quietness  before   God 126 

Is   it  well  with   Tuy    Child? 133 

The   Conversion  of   Children     ....  135 

Children  in  Heaven 144 

Only  a  Baby's  Grave 148 

A  Walk  in  Green\vood 150 

The   Empty   Little   Bed 159 


MEMORIAL. 


A  FTER  the  death  of  our  dear  boy,  a 
very  large  number  of  tender  and 
beautiful  letters  of  condolence  reached  us 
from  all  parts  of  the  land.  As  it  was 
quite  impossible  for  us  to  reply  to  all  these 
kind  letters,  it  occurred  to  us  that  the 
most  fitting  response  would  be  to  prepare 
a  brief  sketch  of  our  child,  and  of  the 
touching  circumstances  of  his  death,  and 
to  send  it  to  those  whose  words  of  sym- 
pathy have  been  so  grateful.  Many  of 
these  letters  contained  words  of  precious 
consolation  that  are  as  well  calculated  to 
comfort  other  bereaved  parents  as  they 


lO  THE  EMPTY  CRIB, 

were  to  comfort  us  in  our  first  great 
sorrow.  Such  passages  from  them  as 
could  be  printed,  without  any  violation  of 
delicacy,  have  been  wrought  in  with  the 
following  brief  narrative.  Both  the  nar- 
rative and  the  succeeding  articles  are 
published  simply  and  solely  with  the  hope 
that  they  may  be  a  solace  and  a  blessing 
to  some  hearts  in  the  great  Household  of 
the  Sorrowing, 

This  is  the  largest  household  in  the 
world.  There  is  hardly  a  dwelling  "in 
which  there  is  not  one  dead."  In  almost 
every  home  there  are  stored  away, 
among  its  most  cherished  treasures,  a  lit- 
tle photograph,  or  a  box  of  toys,  a  torn 
kite,  a  halfvvorn  cap,  or  a  pair  of  tiny 
shoes.  They  all  tell  a  story  too  deep  for 
tears. 

Into  such  homes  I  have  been  called, 
like  other  pastors,  a  thousand  times.     I 


MEMORIAL.  II 

have  sat  down  beside  the  afflicted  fathers 
and  mothers  in  my  flock,  and  tried  to 
comfort  them.  I  have  read  to  them  the 
heavenly  messages  of  consolation,  and 
knelt  beside  them  as  they  rocked  and 
trembled  under  the  tempest  of  their  ag- 
ony. But  how  often  have  these  mothers 
said  to  me,  "Ah  !  my  pastor,  there  is  one 
thing  in  this  world  that  you  never  can 
understand  until  you  have  felt  it  for  your- 
self, —  and  that  is  the  sensations  of  a 
parent  over  his  or  her  own  child  as  it  lies  in 
the  first  awful  silence  of  death.  You  must 
go  through  all  this  for  yourself,  and  then 
you  can  realize  what  it  is  we  suffer,  and 
what  it  is  that  our  smitten  souls  most 
need."  After  hearing  such  things,  we  have 
come  back  to  our  happy  home  and  said, 
"  Oh !  if  those  lessons  are  to  be  learned 
only  by  having  the  little  crib  emptied 
in  this  house,  may  the  Hand  that  takes  the 


12  THE  EMPTY  CRIB, 

treasure  be  the  same  Hand  that  can  open 
our  eyes  to  see  the  infinite  blessedness 
of  a  sanctified  sorrow  ! " 

Three  years  ago,  in  a  half-playful 
description  of  "A  New  Home"  (in  the 
New  York  "Evangelist")  I  wrote,  "What 
sorrows  this  home  hath  in  store  for  us, 
God  only  knoweth.  Perhaps  in  yonder 
nursery  a  little  crib  may  grow  deeper 
until  it  deepens  into  a  grave.  Father, 
not  as  we  will,  but  as  Thou  wilt."  The 
prophecy  is  fulfilled.  And  I  trust  that 
it  will  not  be  an  indelicate  exposure  of 
private  griefs  if  a  father's  heart  utters,  at 
such  a  time,  a  few  words  to  the  large  and 
ever  enlarging  circle  of  those  who  mourn 
beside  a  deserted  cradle,  or  in  a  silent 
nursery.  As  one  of  old  has  said,  "  these 
pages,  if  thou  be  a  father,  thou  wilt  par- 
don me ;  if  nocht,  then  reserve  thy  cen- 
sure till  thou  be  a  father." 


MEMORIAL,  13 


/^UR  little  Georgie  and  his  twin- 
^^^  brother  Theodore  came  to  us  on 
the  ninth  of  July,  1863.  The  double 
gift  of'  our  heavenly  Father  to  us  called 
forth  peculiar  joy ;  and  from  that  birth- 
hour  until  that  chill,  dark  Sabbath  night 
in  which  they  were  parted,  they  never 
gave  us  one  moment's  pain  or  dis- 
pleasure. They  never  cost  us  any  but 
tears  of  thankfulness.  The  twofold  care, 
even  in  earliest  infancy,  was  a  twofold 
delight. 

They  were  both  consecrated  to  God  in 
baptism  a  few  months  after ;  on  the  day 
of  the  service  I  preached  on  the  Mission 
of  children  as  the  instructors  of  their 
parents   ("  He   set   a   little   child   in   the 


14  THE  EMPTY  CRIB. 

midst  of  them").  The  sermon  closed 
with  a  quotation  of  the  following  pathetic 
lines :  — 

"I  shall  miss  him  when  the  flowers  come, 

In  the  garden  where  he  plaj'ed ; 
I  shall  miss  him  more  by  the  fireside 

When  the  flowers  have  all  decayed. 
I  shall  see  his  toys  and  his  empty  chair, 

And  the  horse  he  used  to  ride ; 
And  they  will  speak,  with  a  silent  speech, 

Of  the  little  boy  that  died. 

We  shall  all  go  home  to  our  Father's  house,  — 

To  our  Father's  house  in  the  skies, 
Where  the  hope  of  our  soul  shall  have  no  blight, 

And  our  love  no  broken  ties ; 
We  shall  roam  on  the  banks  of  the  River  of  Peace, 

And  bathe  in  its  blissful  tide; 
And  one  of  the  joys  of  our  heaven  shall  be 

The  little  boy  that  died." 

Some  of  our  congregation  expressed 
their  surprise  at  the  allusion  to  the  death 
of  children  and  the  quotation  of  such 
lines,  and  thought  them  ominous. 


MEMORIAL,  15 

For  nearly  five  years  God  spared  our 
noble  boys  to  be  the  sunlight  of  our 
dwelling.  "I  almost  envy  you  those 
rarely  beautiful  and  lovely  twins,"  wrote 
the  Rev.  Dr.  P ,  of  New  York.  Usu- 
ally the  first  inquiry  of  our  visitors  was 
to  "  see  the  boys  ; "  and  many  an  one  has 
said  to  us  since,  "Georgie  was  far  the 
most  beautiful  boy  I  ever  saw."  "Give  me 
one  of  these,"  our  brother  Newman  Hall 
used  to  say  at  our  fireside,  "for  I  have 
none  in  my  nest  at  home."  Those  who 
recall  the  little  fellow^s,  as  they  were  led 
by  their  faithful  German  nurse  Gesine 
through  the  streets  of  Brooklyn,  or  in  the 
park  at  Saratoga,  will  remember  the  pe- 
culiar loveliness  of  Georgie's  countenance. 
It  was  a  face  to  dream  about.  His  photo- 
graphs (which  are  skilfully  engraved  for 
this  volume) ,  give  no  adequate  idea  of 
the  flood  of  joyous  light  that  seemed  to 


1 6  THE  EMPTY  CRIB. 

beam  from  his  large  lustrous  eyes  and 
bewitching  mouth  and  golden  hair. 
There  was  a  fine  vein  of  poetry  in  his 
nature.  Among  the  first  words  which  he 
ever  uttered  were  "moon"  and  "'tar," 
as  he  gazed  with  infant  glee  at  the 
heavens,  from  his  nursery  window.  At 
three  years  of  age,  when  riding  with  our 
friends  at  Cedar  Cottage,  his  constant 
exclamation  was,  "Oh  !  see  the  beautiful 
clouds  ! "  One  day  when  he  came  in  from 
the  garden,  he  said,  "Mama,  I've  been  to 
see  where  the  strawberries  are  sleeping. ^^ 
There  is  a  mystery  about  twin-life  that 
affords  a  constant  study  to  the  parent. 
Sometimes  the  resemblance,  both  in  feat- 
ures and  in  character,  is  so  striking  as  to 
make  each  one  the  shadow  of  the  other. 
The  only  marked  likeness  between  our 
twin-lads  was  in  the  tint  of  their  fair  com- 
plexion,   and   of    their    hair.       Georgie, 


MEMORIAL.  17 

though  the  most  delicate  at  his  birth, 
became  much  the  larger,  and  possessed 
the  most  keenly  sensitive  nerves,  and  the 
liveliest  exuberance  of  spirits.  Neither 
his  feet  nor  his  tongue  could  move  fast 
enough  to  keep  up  with  his  ardent  tem- 
perament. It  was  quite  in  character 
with  him,  that  one  of  the  first  prayers  he 
ever  uttered  was  in  these  summary  words  : 
"O  God,  please  to  make  Georgie  a  good 
little  boy,  right  awayf''  A  sweet  arch- 
ness of  expression  played  over  his  coun- 
tenance, while  he  was  making  his  droli 
speeches  or  practising  his  roguish  fun, 
that  was  quite  inimitable.  As  he  was  play- 
ing horse  rather  violently  in  his  mother's 
room,  she  corrected  him  several  times 
without  his  making  any  answer  ;  at  length 
he  said,  "  Mama,  doo  know  that  horses 
never  talk.^^ 

From  their  early  infancy  the  boys  had 


1 8  THE  EMPTT  CRIB. 

been,  in  part,  under  the  care  of  an  excel- 
lent Ger;Tian  nurse,  "Neenie;"  and  she 
continued  with  us  until  she  saw  her 
"  sweet  lomb "  (as  she  used  to  call 
Georgie)  close  his  eyes  in  death.  Neenie 
was  their  almost  constant  companion  in 
the  nursery,  and  often  in  their  walks. 
No  recollection  is  more  familiar  to  our 
neighbors  than  the  sight  of  the  little 
German  woman  pushing  a  double  baby's 
carriage  along  the  sidewalk ;  or,  when 
they  grew  older,  leading  one  by  each 
hand.  How  proud  she  felt  when  passers- 
by  halted  to  admire  their  beauty,  or  to 
steal  a  kiss  on  the  little  velvet  cheeks ! 
She  taught  them  to  count  and  to  say  their 
prayers  in  German ;  and  from  her  they 
acquired  a  sort  of  broken  half-German 
brogue  that  made  Georgie's  droll  speeches 
all  the  droller  and  more  entertaining. 
The   boys  were  very  much    attached   to 


MEMORIAL. 


19 


their  nurse.  But  when  his  mother  asked, 
"Georgie,  which  do  you  love  best,  Mama 
or  Neenie?"  he  repHed,  "Mama,  dere  is 
a  difference  in  my  love.  I  love  Neenie  a 
sousand  dollars ;  but  I  love  doo  more 
than  tunc  [tongue]   can  tell." 

The  color  of  a  faithful  negro  servant 
was  a  perpetual  puzzle  to  him.  At  length 
he  discovered  a  solution  that  was  about  as 
satisfactory  as  the  theories  of  some  writers 
on  ethnology  in  our  times.  Seeing  a 
painter  putting  a  fresh  coat  of  black  on 
our  iron  railing,  he  asked  with  much 
earnestness,  "Is  dot  de  mon  what  painted 
Diana?"  He  was  accustomed  to  see 
domestic  servants  and  coachmen  calling 
with  messages  for  me.  One  day  he 
peeped  into  the  sitting-room,  and  saw  me 
talking  with  a  worthy  brother-pastor  of 
an  "African  church."  When  I  came  out, 
he  inquired,  "Papa,  whose  colored  mon 


20  THE  EMPTT  CRIB, 

was  dot  in  de  sittin'-room  ? "  I  replied, 
"My  child,  he  was  nobody's  man;  he  is 
Jesus  Christ's  servant :  he  is  a  minister." 
With  a  most  ludicrous  look  of  wonder  he 
said,  "Well,  I  soodn't  sink  any  minister 
would  be  so  culled  as  dot." 

The  tall  figure  of  Dr.  M was  about 

as  much  a  study  with  him  as  the  origin 
of  color.  When  the  doctor  had  left  the 
house,  after  a  professional  visit,  Georgie 

asked,  "Mama,  \vo\i  high  is  Dr.  M ?" 

The  answer  was,  "  He's  six  feet."  "  Oh, 
dear  !  six  feet  1  Where  does  he  keep  'em 
all?"  When  we  used  to  ask  Georgie, 
"Of  what  are  you  made?"  instead  of  the 
usual  answer,  "  Of  the  dust  of  the  earth," 
he  always  persisted  in  saying,  "  I'se  made 
of  blood,  and  of  flesh,  and  bones,  and 
hair,  and  nails."  How  plainly  we  can 
hear  him  repeat  his  amusing  paraphrase 
of  Joseph's  history,  in  which   he  told  us 


MEMORIAL.  21 

how  "  his  brothers  took  him  out  of  de 
hole,  and  sold  him  to  de  Arabs,  and  dey 
put  him  up  on  de  commel,  and  he  had  a 
nice  ride  down  to  Egypt  and  growcd  and 
groiued  till  he  got  to  be  a  gentlejuon.^^ 
While  recording  these  sprightly  speeches 
and  winning  ways,  we  do  not  set  up  our 
dear  child  as  a  prodigy.  He  was  not ; 
nor  did  he  ever  display  any  morbid  men- 
tal precocity. 

Both  the  boys  had  superb  health,  and 
enjoyed  their  play  to  the  top  of  their  bent. 
Once,  when  playing  in  the  third  story  of 
our  house,  they  daringly  crept  out  of  the 
dormer-window  into  the  eaves-trough ! 
and  when  their  affrighted  nurse  found 
them  there,  and  drew  them  in,  one  of  them 
cried,  "  O  Neenie  !  we  was  lookin'  to  see 
how  pretty  it  is  down  in  the  garden  !  " 

After  this  providential  preservation  of 
their  lives  in  their  third  year,  and  after 


2  2  THE  EMPTT  CRIB. 

their  happy  deliverance  from  many  of  the 
perils  of  early  childhood,  we  confidently 
trusted  that  they  were  both  to  be  spared  to 
us.  Their  mother  spent  much  solicitude 
in  securing  a  large  photographic  picture 
of  them ;  and  it  was  brought  home  but  a 
few  days  before  Georgie's  death. 

It  w^as  a  singular  coincidence,  —  the 
superstitious  would  say  an  omen,  —  that, 
on  the  day  preceding  his  death,  Georgie 
w^as  playing  w^ith  his  blocks  in  the  nursery, 
and  when  his  mother  asked  him  if  he  was 
building  a  house,  he  answered,  "  No  ;  Tm 
makin'  a  coffin."  Coming  in  from  digging 
in  the  garden,  he  said,  "  I've  been  makin' 
a  little  grave  !  "  The  little  hollow  in  the 
earth  which  the  dear  hand  made  that  day 
is  there  yet,  with  the  bits  of  wood  and 
brick  beside  it.  To  his  grandma,  —  who 
watched  the  white  cap  and  blue  cloak 
that  day,  bending  over  the  task  with  so 


[mliisth-irdyear  ] 


MEMORIAL.  23 

much  glee,  —  that  miniature  "tomb  in  the 
garden  "  is  the  most  touching  and  cher- 
ished rehc  of  our  lost  treasure. 

In  a  bon-bon  he  found  a  piece  of  candy 
singularly  shaped  like  a  tombstone ;  and 
bringing  it  to  his  mother,  he  said,  "  Mama, 
I've  found  my  tombstone."  After  eating 
it,  he  said,  "There,  I've  swallowed  it! 
Will  it  kill  me?" 

On  the  evening  of  the  seventeenth  of 
March,  a  "  church-sociable  "  was  held  at 
my  residence,  and  many  of  our  beloved 
congregation  gathered  to  offer  their  con- 
gratulations, as  it  was  the  fifteenth  anni- 
versary of  our  wedding.  Music  and 
conversation  occupied  the  happy  evening  ; 
and,  at  the  close,  I  took  the  bright,  merry 
boys  in  my  arms  and  made  an  ofF-hand 
address  of  thanks  to  our  guests.  The 
boys  never  looked  lovelier ;  and  when  it 
was  over,  some  one  asked,  "  What  would 


24  THE  EMPTY  CRIB. 

you  do  if  one  of  them  should  be  taken 
from  you?"  Our  reply  was,  "We  have 
had  nearly  five  years  of  perfect  happiness 
in  them  already,  and  if  they  were  both  to 
die  to-morrow,  we  should  always  thank 
God  that  He  gave  them."  That  was  the 
last  evening  in  which  the  wee  lads  ever 
were  brought  in  together  to  see  our 
visitors. 

A  few  days  later,  their  mother  made 
her  last  excursion  with  them.  It  was  to 
witness  the  panorama  of  Bunyan's  "  Pil- 
grim," at  the  Athenaeum.  The  pictures 
of  the  fiend  Apollyon,  of  the  Valley  of 
the  Shadow  of  Death,  and  of  horrible 
Giant  Despair,  rather  terrified  Georgie, 
who  was  always  timid.  At  length  he 
covered  up  his  eyes,  and  said,  "  Don't 
make  me  look  again  until  the  angeh 
come.^^  Blessed  boy !  they  were  not  far 
off;  and  very  soon  the  "  gates  of  pearl " 


MEMORIAL.  25 

which  the  Dreamer  saw  in  vision,  were  to 
open  to  his  coming  footstep. 

In  the  diary  of  the  teacher  of  the  in- 
fant class  of  our  sabbath  school  I  find  the 
following  loving  record  of  our  boy's  brief 
career     under    her    faithful     teachings : 

"Georgie  C was  one  of  the  sweetest 

lambs  of  our  infant  flock  ;  his  affectionate 
temperament,  gentleness,  and  other  lova- 
ble traits  drew  our  hearts  to  him  at  once. 
We  have  felt  for  some  time  that  if  there 
was  a  representative  from  our  pastor's  fam- 
ily called  for  in  heaven,  Georgie  would  be 
the  one  selected.  I  recollect,  at  one  time, 
he  recited  a  part  of  the  hymn  *  Jesus  loves 
me ; '  after  endeavoring  to  portray  the 
Saviour's  character  in  a  way  that  a  little 
child's  mind  could  appreciate,  a  tear  stood 
in  his  eye;  he  was  asked, 'Georgie,  do 
you  love  the  blessed  Jesus  ? '  and  his  face 
lighted  up  with  one  of  his  sweet  smiles, 


26  THE  EMPTT  CRIB. 

—  '  Oh,  zes,  mam.'  *  The  last  lesson  he 
recited  will  never  be  forgotten,  —  a  verse 
from  the  Psalms.  The  lisping  tones  of  his 
voice  still  sound  in  my  ear  as  he  slowly 
repeated,  *  Hide  me  —  under  de  sadow  — 
of  d}^  wing.'  When  we  heard  there  was 
sickness  in  the  pastor's  house,  not  having 
had  the  slightest  intimation  who  it  was, 
we  said  to  ourselves,  'The  messenger  is 
at  the  door ;  Georgie  is  called  for ;  such 
loveliness  is  not  often  permitted  to  remain 
in  such  a  world  as  this.'" 

Georgie  grew  sweeter  and  more  win- 
some every  hour  during  the  last  winter ; 
and,  sometimes,  when  he  came  home 
from  the  sabbath  class,  and  laid  his 
golden  curls  on  my  shoulder,  and  re- 
peated his  hymns  in  so  tender  a  voice,  I 
felt  a  secret  tremble  at  the  thought  that  so 

*  Georgie  never  saidj'e5;  but  always  "zes." 


MEMORIAL. 


27 


much  treasure  was  intrusted  to  so  frail  an 
earthen  vessel.  On  the  sabbath  preced- 
ing his  death,  he  came  in  from  the  school, 
and  shaking  the  snow  from  his  coat, 
marched  up  to  me,  and  began  to  repeat 
the  verses  he  had  committed  to  memory, 
"  God  is  love,"  and  "  Knock,  and  it  sail  be 
open  to  doo,"  and  "Hide  me  under  de 
sadow  of  dy  wing."  Already  was  that 
"wing"  being  outspread  to  hover  over  our 
darling ;  but  our  eyes  were  mercifully 
holden,  that  we  saw  not  its  coming.  The 
card  which  he  brojight  home  that  sabbath 
from  school,  and  which  was  discovered 
afterwards  in  his  little  box,  contained  the 
appropriate  passage,  "  They  shall  be 
mine,  saith  the  Lord  of  hosts,  in  that  day 
when  I  make  up  my  jewels." 

The  day  before  his  departure  from  us 
was  spent  in  frolicsome  and  happy  play. 
We  observed  a  peculiar  flush  on  the  faces 


28  THE   EMPTY  CRIB. 

of  both  the  boys,  but  it  excited  no  alarm. 
At  the  tea-table  they  both  stood  up,  and 
repeated,  in  jocular  style,  a  bit  of  verse 
which  their  cousin  had  taught  them  :  — 

"As  I  was  walking  out  one  day, 
A  sinkin  ob  de  wedder, 
I  spied  a  pair  ob  roguish  shines,— 
A  neat  and  happy  fedder. 

She  looked  at  me,  I  looked  at  her, 

My  heart  it  went  tit-tat, 
And  den  see  turned  so  smililge, 

How  does  doo  like  my  hot? 

Oh !  I  sink  it's  gay  and  pretty  too, 

Dey  look  so  well  togedder, 
Dame  glossy  coorls  and  yockey  hot 

Mit  de  rooster's  fedder." 

When  Georgie  had  finished  his  in  his 
broad  amusing  pronunciation,  he  kissed 
us  all  "good-night"  for  the  last  time,  and 
ran  laughing  from  the  room.  As  he  was 
put  to  bed,  he  roguishly  said,  "  My  little 
footies  are  tired  at  both  ends."  Hearing 
his    mother   pass    the   nursery,    he  said, 


MEMORIAL.  29 

"  My  sweet  little  mama,  come  and  kiss  me 
good-night;  I  want  to  talk  to  doo." 

Early  on  the  next  morning  (sabbath, 
April  19th)  the  dreaded  scarlet  fever  — 
most  mysterious  of  all  permitted  scourges 
of  the  fireside  —  smote  his  lovely  form 
with  a  violence  past  all  skill  to  arrest. 
The  first  symptoms  were  a  vomiting,  ac- 
companied with  a  high  fever,  and  a  rac- 
ing pulse.  The  usual  rash  did  not  make 
its  appearance.  The  malignant  poison 
of  the  disease  seemed  to  crush  the  whole 
nervous  system  at  once,  and  in  a  few 
hours  he  lay  in  an  entire  collapse,  like 
that  of  the  Asiatic  cholera.  He  suffered 
no  acute  pain, — only  complained  of  being 
"  tired  ;  "  but  the  livid  and  purple  hues  of 
his  delicate  skin  told  how  rapidly  death 
was  changing  his  countenance,  and  send- 
ing him  away. 

The  sermon  which  I  had  before  pre- 


30  THE  EMPTY  CRIB. 

pared  for  that  very  morning  was  on 
reading  aright  the  discipline  of  our 
heavenly  Father,  —  especially  in  the 
death  of  our  children  !  In  that  sermon  I 
said,  "  A  thousand  times  over  have  I  pit- 
ied more  the  mother  of  a  living  sorrow 
than  I  have  pitied  the  mother  of  a  departed 
joy.  Parents,  spare  your  tears  for  those 
whom  you  have  laid  down  to  sleep  in  their 
narrow  beds  of  earth,  with  the  now  with- 
ered rose-bud  mingling  with  their  dust. 
They  are  safe,  Christ  is  their  teacher 
now,  and  has  them  in  His  sinless  school, 
where  lessons  of  celestial  wisdom  are 
learned  by  eyes  that  never  weep.  Save 
your  tears  for  your  living  children,  if  they 
are  yet  living  in  their  sins,  unrepentant 
and  unconverted."  The  sermon  Uosed 
with  the  hymn  (selected  the  day  before)  : 

"Mj  times  are  in  thy  hand, 
Great  God !  I  wish  them  there." 


MEMORIAL.  31 

I  had  already  prepared  and  marked  for 
the  next  Sunday  a  discourse  on  the  words, 
"  Blessed  are  they  that  mourn ;  for  they 
shall  be  comforted  !  " 

While  this  almost  prophetic  service  was 
going  forward  in  the  church,  Georgie 
seemed  to  have  the  premonition  —  which 
often  makes  a  dying  child  wiser  than 
parent  or  ph3^sician  —  that  he  was  near 
his  end.  He  repeated  his  cradle-prayer, 
"Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep,"  and  then  a 
part  of  his  favorite  Sunday-school  hymn  : 

"Jesus  loves  me,  this  I  know, 
For  the  Bible  tells  me  so : 
Little  ones  to  Him  belong; 
They  are  weak,  but  He  is  strong, 

Jesus  loves  me;  He  has  died, 
Heaven's  gate  to  open  wide; 
He  will  wash  away  my  sin, 
And  bid  His  little  child  come  in.'* 

After  he  had  finished  this  most  perfect 
of  modern  child-hymns,  he  looked  up  to 


32  THE  EMPTY  CRIB. 

his  mother,  and  his  nurse  Neenie,  and 
whispered,  "Does  Jesus  love  me?  What 
will  Jesus  say  to  me  when  he  sees  me?" 
We  flattered  ourselves  with  the  vain  hope 
that  he  might  survive  until  the  next  day, 
and  accordingly  I  left  him  for  a  couple  of 
hours,  to  fulfil  a  most  important  pulpit 
engagement.  The  little  fellow  kissed  his 
hand  to  me,  and  his  feeble  "bye-bye" 
were  about  the  last  words  that  ever  fell 
from  his  lips.  The  agonizing  convulsions 
presently  came  on  ;  and  soon  after  sunset, 
our  glorious  boy  lay  cold  and  silent  on  his 
pillow.  Our  Sabbath  evening  was  his 
bright  and  endless   Sabbath    morn ! 


I  foas  bumb;  |  opciub  not  mg  ntoullj,  bKause 
%\z\x  bibst  it. 

Will  f  orb  tpSii,  aub  i\t  ITorb  ^atb  taluu  afeag  ; 
bUss-eb  \iz  ll^c  nanu  of  \\t  Jtorb. 


MEMORIAL. 


33 


A  S  the  tidings  of  his  death  spread 
through  the  neighborhood,  there 
were  wakeful  and  weeping  eyes  in  nearly 
every  dwelling.  One  of  the  neighbors 
preserved,  as  long  as  she  could,  on  her 
parlor  window,  the  faint  print  of  his  little 
hand,  left  there  the  day  before  his  death ; 
and  other  such  touching  proofs  of  affec- 
tion for  the  child  reached  us  from  many 
quarters.  The  old  Irish  gardener  came 
weeping  to  his  work  in  the  garden.  "It 
e'en  a'most  kills  me,''  said  he,  "not  to  hear 
the  boys  halloo  to  me  from  yon  nussery 
window."  * 

Our  Lafaj^ette  -  Avenue  congregation 
were  celebrating,  that  evening,  the  anni- 
versary of  their  mission-school,  in  the 
church.  The  Brooklyn  Union  of  next 
day,  in  its  report  of  the  celebration,  says, 
that,  "While   Mr.   Thompson,  of  Ohio, 


34 


THE  EMPTT  CRIB. 


was  speaking,  a   message  was    received 

that  one  of  Dr.  C ^'s  twin-children  had 

just   died,  and   Mr.  T spoke    most 

touchingly  and  eloquently  of  the  sad 
event.  A  feeling  of  sorrow  settled  upon 
the  whole  audience ;  and,  after  a  hymn 
by  the  children,  they  were  dismissed." 
A  valued  friend,  who  was  present  at  the 
service,  gave  such  expression  to  her  feel- 
ings and  those  of  our  beloved  congrega- 
tion, in  the  following  letter,  that  we  cannot 
refrain  from  inserting  it. 

"Well  do  I  know,  my  dear  Mrs.  C , 

how  utterh'  inadequate  are  human  words 
to  give  consolation  in  such  a  tr3'ing  hour; 
but  be  assured  that  the  household  of  our 
pastor,  over  which  death  has  thrown  his 
gloomy  pall,  and  the  bereaved  hearts 
bowed  in  sorrow  there,  are  held  in  ten- 
derest  remembrance  by  the  whole  church. 
Tn  each  household  within  it  are  thoughts 


MEMORIAL.  35 

and  words  of  sympathy  which  must  find 

expression.      '  Hitherto,'    as   Mr.    C 

said  in  his  remarks  at  the  funeral  of  Mr. 
Crook,  'no  badore  of  mourning  has  ever 
hung  at  the  door  of  his  own  dwelHng,  or 
any  coffin  ever  yet  passed  its  threshold,' 
—  so  never  before  have  we  had  occasion 
(in  the  great  mercy  of  God  w^ho  has 
spared  you)  to  have  our  hearts  draw^n  out, 
and  our  tears  to  flow  for  you.  But  now 
this  sorrow^  is  taken  up  and  shared  by  all 
as  one  common  sorrow.  I  was  struck, 
on  Sunday  morning,  with  the  intense  in- 
terest felt  by  the  entire  congregation  in 
the  sickness  which  had  invaded  your 
dwelling ;  and  w^hen  at  night  it  was  an- 
nounced that  *  little  Georgie  had  gone 
home  to  heaven,'  how  all  hearts  were 
thrilled  !  How  many  low,  earnest  words 
were  spoken  sadly,  and  how,  as  in  one 
great  family,  did  the  sorrow  seem  to  per- 


36  THE  EMPTY  CRIB. 

vade  the  church  !  It  must,  in  some  meas- 
ure, comfort  you  to  know  that  in  your 
affliction  we  too  are  afflicted.  I  have 
seldom  known  a  church  which  seemed  so 
much  like  one  great  harmonious  house- 
hold,—  the  result  of  the  untiring  efforts 
of  your  husband  and  yourself  to  create 
friendly  feeling,  and  of  the  cordial  hospi-- 
tality  which  you  have  always  exercised 
towards  us.  May  you  all  have  your 
reward  now  by  the  outpouring  of  sym- 
pathy from  the  many  hearts  3'Ou  have 
blessed  ! 

The  form  of  your  trial  is  peculiar  to 
you.  The  gift  of  two  beautiful  children 
at  once  is  seldom  granted  ;  and  these  two, 
— hozu  beautiful  the}^  were  !  There  must 
be  a  certain  pleasure  and  pride  enjoyed 
in  a  pair  of  such  lovely  boys  that  no  sin- 
gle child  could  give  ;  and  I  think  we  all 
felt  this  pride  and  admiration  too.     Now 


MEMORIAL. 


37 


that  the  twins  are  separated,  and  so  sud- 
denly, what  can  I  say  to  comfort  your 
bleeding  heart?  Nothing,  perhaps,  that 
you  will  not  hear  from  others ;  but  I  do 
so  long  to  lift  your  thoughts  (as  mine 
were  in  my  bereavement)  out  of  this 
earthly  home  up  to  that  beautiful  home, 
through  the  pearly  gates  of  which  has 
flown  your  darling  child.  The  sweet 
flower,  lent  to  you  a  little  while  to  adorn 
your  dwelling,  and  so  tenderly  cherished 
there,  is  now  transplanted  to  the  garden 
of  the  Lord,  where  it  wdll  expand  into 
more  wondrous  beauty  than  any  earth- 
culture  can  create.  Oh  !  could  the  veil 
which  hides  him  from  your  view,  be  lifted 
for  one  brief  moment,  and  you  behold 
the  radiant  glory  of  that  upper  world; 
could  you  but  see  the  seraph-form  wing- 
ing its  flight  in  snowy  whiteness  toward 
the  throne  of  God,  and  there   amid  the 


38  THE  EMPTT  CRIB. 

angel-choir  singing  the  angel-song  with 
happy  voice,  —  without  a  fear  or  a  home- 
longing,  —  how  would  you  be  comforted, 
and,  in  time,  7'cjoice  that  in  his  innocence 
and  purity  he  was  ^"^for  ever  with  the 
Lord''!  Tread  softly  now  ;  for  you  are 
the  "  mother  of  an  angel ;  "  and  from  out 
of  that  shining  band  of  little  ones,  gath- 
ered to  beautify  the  Palace  of  our  Lord, 
one  lovely  cherub  shall  watch  and  wait  to 
welcome  his  "  svveet  mother." 

May  Jesus,  the  "  Man  of  sorrows,"  so 
fill  your  heart  with  the  rich  consolations 
of  His  love,  that  you  may  be  sustained 
through  all  this  trying  scene,  and  be  able 
to  yield  your  precious  treasure,  unmur- 
muringly,  to  Him  who  doeth  all  things 
well !  "What  we  know  not  now,  we  shall 
know  hereafter."  May  the  God  of  all  the 
families  of  the  earth  put  underneath  you 
His   everlasting  arms   of  love,   to  shield 


MEMORIAL.  39 

and  protect  you ;  and  as  this  link  is 
formed  with  the  heavenly  world,  may  you 
be  gathered  there  at  last,  an  unbroken 
household  !  Will  you  please  to  put  these 
flowers  in  little  Georgie's  casket?  " 

"  Little  Georgie  loved  flowers,"  wrote 
one  who  was  very  near  and  dear  to  him. 
"  Often  have  I  gathered  them  for  him. 
Please  place  this  cluster  in  our  darling's 
hand.  They  have  been  watered  with  my 
tears.  Their  silent  language  may  tell  of 
the  wealth  of  love  and  tenderness,  and 
the  agony  of  grief  that  fills  this  heart  at 
the  memory  of  the  angel-child." 

From  many  sympathizing  hearts,  in 
one  of  the  most  generous  of  flocks,  came 
similar  fragrant  tributes.  To  the  cluster 
of  flowers   (arranged  in  the    form    of  a 

cross),  which  were  sent  by  Mrs.  C 's 

sabbath-school  class,  was  appended  the 
motto :  — 


40  THE  EMPTT  CRIB. 

'"'■We  say,  'Good-night,  Georgie,  dearl* 
The  a7igels  say  —  have  said, 
*  Good-morni7igr  " 

From  a  household  in  Philadelphia,  tc 
which  the  twin-laddies  were  especially 
dear,  came  these  soothing  words,  on  the 
day  of  the  burial.  "We  are  thinking  of 
you  all  at  this  hour,  fancying  the  change 
which  death  has  made  in  the  aspect  of 
every  familiar  room  in  your  cheerful 
house,  and  not  yet  able  to  banish  the 
sound  of  children's  voices.  *The  boys' 
are  everywhere  still. 

"  Yet  we  know  that  in  one  room  must 
lie  the  darling  of  all  hearts,  ready  for  his 
burial.  God  comfort  you  in  the  sad  hour 
of  this  day  when  you  take  him  out  of  the 
house,  and  come  home  again  without  him  I 
We  shall  all  be  thinking  of  you  this  after- 
noon, and  of  the  new-made  grave  in 
Greenwood.     Who  would  have  said  that 


MEMORIAL.  41 

Georgie  must  be  the  first  to  take  possession 
of  that  silent  home?  God  seems  most 
like  d,  father  just  now,  when  he  comes, 
and,  with  an  authority  we  do  not  think  of 
questioning,  chooses  the  httle  tender  child 
for  whom  we  had  thought  no  one  but 
ourselves  could  care  properly,  and  places 
him  at  once  beyond  the  reach  of  all 
harm.  I  am  sure  you  can  say,  'We  shall 
always  be  glad  that  he  was  ours  even 
for  a  few  years.' 

''But  then  to  be  always  missing  Georgie, 
always  reminded  of  him  by  the  sight  of 
Theo.,  about  whom,  sweet  little  lamb, 
there  seems  a  sort  of  forlornness,  when 
without  his  playmate  !  — oh  !  one  needs  a 
great  deal  of  comforting  under  such 
thoughts ;  and  sometimes  thick  clouds 
will  appear,  to  keep  out  every  ray  of 
light.  The  photograph  of  the  boys  lies 
close  by  my  pen,  and  as  I  look  from  my 


42  THE  EMPTY  CRIB. 

page  to  the  two  faces,  I  cannot  think  that 
one  is  so  changed.  Sweet  Georgie ! 
what  thoughts  did  he  have  when  he 
asked  Svhat  Jesus  would  say  to  him'? 
We  shall  always  think  of  him  when  the 
children  say  that  hymn,  'Jesus  loves  me,' 
of  w^hich  they  are  so  fond.  Yesterday, 
w^hen  brother  Theodore's  boys  came  over, 
they  seemed  to  be  awe-struck,  as  if  some- 
thing they  could  not  comprehend  had 
befallen  Georgie  and  Theo.  ;  —  how  the 
two  names  seem  to  flow  together  as  if 
we  never  could  separate  them !  Dear' 
cousins,  I  know  you  w^ill  not  turn  away 
from  any  source  of  comfort ;  and  whatever 
the  sympathy  of  friends  can  give,  you 
now  have  in  the  richest  abundance,  and 
in  heavenly  consolations  infinitely  more." 
Well  might  our  dear  friend  say  that 
"one  needs  a  great  deal  of  comforting" 
when  they  go  into  a  nursery  that  rang 


MEMORIAL. 


43 


every  day  with  the  music  of  merry  voices, 
and  find  it  silent;  and  beside  an  empty 
crib,  see,  by  the  dim  light,  only  a  white 
sheet  covering  a  little  form  whose  still- 
ness makes  the  heart  ache  I  In  such  a 
chamber  of  silence  with  what  a  heavenly 
sweetness  does  the  voice  of  Jesus  say  to 
our  aching  heart,  "  Thy  son  liveth  !  " 

On  the  afternoon  of  April  twenty- 
second, —  a  golden  spring  day,  when  the 
early  violets  were  opening  to  the  sun- 
shine,—  we  bore  away  our  darling  to  his 
burial.  The  simple  story  is  told  in  the 
following  passage  from  the  "Union"  of 
April  23d :  — 

"Yesterday  afternoon  the  burial-sei- 
vices  of  little  Georgie  Cuyler  took  place 
at  his  late  home  in  Oxford  Street.  The 
house  was  thronged  ;  and  friends,  unable 
to  gain  admission,  lined  the  sidewalk, 
stood  in  groups  in  the  yard,  and  crowded 


44 


THE  EMPTT  CRIB. 


the  piazza.  In  the  parlors,  the  hall,  and 
everywhere  were  flowers  in  profusion ; 
many  of  them  were  wrought  into  the 
most  tasteful  forms  of  crowns,  crosses, 
anchors,  stars,  and  other  fitting  devices. 
Over  the  medallion  likenesses  of  the  boys 
was  a  superb  floral  crown,  and  on  the 
white  casket  rested  an  exquisite  cross  of 
fragrant  buds.  The  Rev.  Theodore  S. 
Brown,  of  the  Memorial  Church,  read  the 
Scriptures ;  Rev.  Dr.  Hall  made  the 
opening  prayer ;  Rev.  Dr.  Duryea  made 
an  address  and  offered  prayer ;  and  Dr. 
Cuyler  uttered  a  brief  testimony  to  his 
assembled  people,  on  the  sustaining  grace 
of  God  in  trial.  The  choir  of  the  church 
sang  the  two  hymns,  —  *  Jesus  loves 
me,*  and  *  Peacefully  sleep ; '  and  at 
the  close  of  the  services,  the  remains 
were  taken  to  Greenwood."  Georgie's 
resting-place    is    on    Fountain     Hill,    by 


MEMORIAL. 


45 


Rill  Path,  in  a  plot  wherein  no  one  else 
has  yet  been  laid.  When  we  lowered  the 
precious  sleeper  into  his  narrow  bed,  it 
seemed  a  cold  lonely  spot  to  leave  a 
delicate  child.  But  we  parents  must  re- 
member that  it  was  in  just  such  a  spot 
the  Master  lay ;  and  from  His  tomb  in 
Joseph's  garden,  as  from  His  living  lips, 
issues  His  divine  command,  "Suffer  the 
little  children  to  come  unto  Me,^''  It  is 
only  when  we  open  a  gateway  of  earth 
for  the  body,  that  He  doth  open  to  the 
spirit  a  gateway  to  glory,  — 

"And  bid  His  little  child  come  in." 

In  arranging  this  simple  Memorial  of 
our  child,  this  seems  to  be  a  fitting  place 
to  introduce  two  poetic  tributes  which 
may  w^ell  be  laid  as  chaplets  on  his  new- 
made  grave.  .The  first  one  is  from  an 
unknown  friend  in  Virginia.     The  other 


^6  THE  EMPTY  CRIB. 

IS  from  a  gifted  authoress  whose  produc- 
tions are  ah'eady  famiHar  to  the  American 
people. 

WHAT   WILL  JESUS   SAY? 

SUGGESTED    BY  THE   LAST   WORDS    OF   GEORGIE 
CUYLER. 

''  He  looked  up  to  his  mother  and  whispered,  '  Does  Jesus  lov; 
n%e  ?    What  will  I/e  say  to  me  when  He  first  sees  me  ? '  " 

''I  KNOW  that  He  loves  me,  mother; 

I  know  that  He  hears  me  pray; 
But  when  He  sees  me  coming, 

What  will  Jesus  say? 

When  He  hears  my  little  footstep, 

Will  He  cross  the  crystal  sea, 
A  id  out  from  among  the  angels 

Come  to  welcome  me?" 

All  through  that  April  sabbath. 

With  head  on  the  mother's  breast, 
The  sweet  child  murmured  of  Jesus 

Till  the  sun  was  low  in  the  west- 
Then  the  door  of  heaven  opened, 

That  had  been  ajar  all  day, 
And  our  darling  alone  could  answer, 

"  What  will  Jesus  say?" 


MEMORIAL.  47 

We  know  that  He  went  to  meet  him ; 

We  know  that  a  pierced  hand 
Was  the  first  that  clasped  our  dear  one's, 

In  the  bliss  of  the  better  land. 

We  cannot  grow  used  to  the  silence; 

We  listen  all  the  day 
For  the  voice  that  made  such  music, 

For  the  voice  that's  far  away, — 

For  the  merrj  foot  on  the  stairway, 

For  the  voice  like  a  silver  bell; 
And  Thou  knowest,  O  our  Father! 

How  hard  to  say,  It  is  -well! 

The  cup  is  very  bitter 

Pressed  to  our  burning  lips  ; 
The  shade  of  that  April  sabbath 

Hath  left  our  lives  in  eclipse. 

But  our  hearts  are  lifted  higher. 

In  the  holy  hour  of  prayer; 
And  our  heaven  hath  drawn  the  nigher, 

And  grown  exceeding  fair. 

On  the  grave  we  scatter  floAvers  ; 

But  our  glorious  boy  hath  gone 
Where  no  shadow  of  death  shall  darken 

The  flowers  around  the  throne. 


48  THE  EMPTY  CRIB. 

And  the  sacred  touch  of  sorrow 

Wafts  from  earth's  cares  away, 
As  we  think  how  sweetly  he  whispered, 
"  What  will  Jesus  say  ? " 

M.  E.  M. 
Norfolk,  Va. 


THE   TWINS. 

LINES    ON    THE   DEATH   OF   GEORGIE   C — ,    APRIL    I9 

I  SAW  twin-lilies  on  one  stem 

Pure,  beautiful  they  were  to  see ! 
Life's  morning  dew  on  each,  —  a  gem 

Shone  in  the  sunlight  lustrously; 
Almost  alike,  and  yet  in  them 

Strange  difterence  there  was  to  me. 

I  passed  again  ;  but  one  was  gone  — 
The  fairest  ///«^—  the  first  to  fall ! 

Its  lily-mate  drooped  all  alone 

A  frail  sweet  flower,  the  gardener's  all 

Yet  not  his  all  —  a  rose  had  grown 
Before  within  his  garden-wall. 

I  heard  the  voices  of  twin-birds, 

Fair  fledglings  of  the  sunny  Spring; 
Their  notes  seemed  lik<^  prophetic  words. 


MEMORIAL.  49 

Fulfilled  when  one  at  morn  took  wing, 
Leaving  his  mate  among  the  herds 
Of  mortals  and  of  beasts  to  sing. 

I  saw  twin-children,  noble  boys, 

Fairer  not  Beauty  could  create! 
They  loved  :  yet  one  cared  less  for  toys 

And  more  for  dreaming  than  his  mate. 
Death  sundered  these !     Now  heaven  employs 

The  high-souled  boy  in  seraph-state. 

The  flowers  that  grew  upon  one  stalk, 

Will  blossom  never  as  before; 
The  birds  that  cheered  the  garden-walk, 

Will  sing  in  sweet  duet  no  more; 
But  those  twin-souls  rejoined  shall  talk. 

In  the  new  life,  their  first  life  o'er. 

O  large-eyed  boy !  and  were  those  eyes 
In  which  such  depth  of  love  we  found 

Opening  so  wide  on  Paradise 

While  our  short  sight  by  earth  was  bound? 

Did  he  the  child,  than  man  more  wise, 
See  that  his  life  lay  all  beyond? 

Who  would  recall  him  from  that  life? 

Would  love  parental  see  again 
Its  darling  in  the  mortal  strife, 

Or  growing  up  to  sin  and  pain? 
4 


50  THE  EMPTY  CRIB. 

If  meet  that  dust  to  dust  be  given, 

'Tis  meet  that  beauty  should  return 
In  all  its  freshness  back  to  heaven. 

We  give  but  ashes  to  the  urn  : 
The  flame  by  which  life's  shell  is  riven, 
The  soul  of  Beauty  cannot  burn. 

E.  C.  K. 
New  York,  May,  i86S. 

While  the  form  of  our  precious  child 
was  yet  lying  in  the  nursery,  his  twin- 
brother  (who  had  been  removed  with  his 
sisters,  for  fear  of  contagion,  to  the  house 

of    our   kind    friend,    Mr.    H )    was 

seized  with  the  scarlet-fever,  though  in  a 
less  malignant  form.  The  rash  made  its 
appearance  immediately ;  but  the  pros- 
trating effect  of  the  disease  brought  him 
into  great  danger,  and  this  danger  was 
increased  by  a  sympathetic  suffering 
about  his  lost  mate.  Before  either  of  the 
children  were  informed  of  their  brother's 
death,  little  Theo.  wakened  Mary  in  the 
night,   and  said,   *'  Mary,  do  you   know 


MEMORIAL,  51 

Georgie  is  an  angel?"  "  I  don't  want  to 
get  well,"  he  whispered  to  his  nurse  when 
at  the  worst :  "  I  want  to  go  and  be  with 
Georgie.  Don't  give  me  any  more  medi- 
cine." 

On  Wednesday  afternoon,  about  the 
hour  when  his  brother  was  borne  away 
to  his  burial,  Theo.  looked  up  suddenly, 
and  said,  "Neenie!  why  didn't  jyt*?^  look 
up  and  see  Georgie  when  I  did?  " — "  Be- 
cause I  did  not  know  that  Georgie  was 
here." — "  Why,  yes  :  he  was,"  the  boy  re- 
plied :  "he  just  came  and  put  his  little 
face  right  in  that  little  round  hole" 
(pointing  to  the  arch  above  his  bed) ,  "and 
looked  at  me,  and  then  went  away."  The 
nurse  inquired,  "  How  did  Georgie  look?" 
— "Just  like  he  always  did,"  the  child 
replied,  "only  that  his  hair  was  brushed 
away  back.  I  think  he  had  wings,  but  I 
didn't  see  them."    When  asked  afterward* 


52 


THE  EMPTY  CRIB. 


"Why  didn't  you  speak  to  Georgie?"  he 
answered,  "I  didn't  think  it  best,  mama, 
because  he  was  an  angel."  The  impres- 
sion of  havin^c  seen  his  twin-brother  on 
that  day  remains  to  this  moment  in  my 
child's  mind  as  firm  and  distinct  as  any 
recollection  of  the  past.  I  record  the 
singular  incident  without  either  comment 
or  conjecture. 

For  five  weary  weeks,  which  the  little 
fellow  bore  with  unmurmuring  patience, 
our  devoted  friends  and  his  physicians 
watched  over  him  with  untiring  fidelity.' 
He  often  hid  away  his  face,  and  seemed 
to  be  mourning  the  loss  of  his  other  self. 
In  his  childish  frankness  he  once  said. 
"I  think  *God  w^as  real  mean  to  let 
Georgie  die  ;  I  wont  have  an3'body  to  play 
with."  Older  people  have  felt  quite  as 
rebelliously  as  the  bereaved  child;  only 
they  were  not  willing  to  say  it  as  bluntly. 


MEMORIAL. 


53 


Sitting  on  his  mother's  lap  by  the  win- 
dow, she  spoke  of  his  brother's  spirit,  and 
he  said,  "I  knew  Georgie's  body;  but  I 
don't  know  his  sotil.^^  Looking  out  to- 
wards the  sky,  he  inquired,  ^'Mama,  is 
Georgie  in  the  white  cloud,  or  in  the 
blue  ? "  Again,  as  his  mother  said, 
"Theo.,  Allie  Edsall  is  almost  the  only 
one  Georgie  knew  when  he  got  to 
heaven,"  the  child  gravely  answered, 
"O  mama,  you  forget  Jesus."  It  was 
a  trying  day  to  us  when  the  little  fellow 
sat  at  that  window,  and  watched  the  chil- 
dren of  our  Sabbath  school  march  past  in 
their  anniversary  procession,  with  their 
badges  of  mourning.  The  infant-class 
banner,  that  the  twins  were  to  have, 
carried,  was  draped  in  black.  As  the 
younger  children  passed  the  little  survivor 
in  the  window,  they  took  oft'  their  hats, 
and    sang    Georgie's    death-bed    hymn, 


54  THE  EMPTY  CRIB. 

** Jesus  loves  me,  this  I  know."  There 
has  been  many  a  stateHer  procession  in 
honor  of  eminent  departed  officials,  that 
has  not  touched  so  closely  the  fount  of 
tears. 

Another  trying  day  was  that  to  us 
when  we  brought  our  surviving  son  back 
to  his  home,  and  to  the  empty,  silent 
nursery.  The  playthings  were  there  just 
as  before,  —  the  kite  which  Georgie  had 
flown  on  his  last  day  of  happy  health, 
and  the  little  block  which  he  had  held 
in  his  hand  when  he  fell  asleep  on  so 
many  a  night.  On  the  wall  were  hung 
the  big  letters,  —  the  "  round  O,"  and  the 
"crooked  S,"'  —  which  he  had  tried  to  re- 
peat over  when  he  lay  dying  of  the  fever. 
The  slate  and  pencil  were  there  in  the 
nursery  drawer ;  but  the  little  hand  that 
made  pictures  for  us  had  "forgotten  its 
cunning"  in  the  grave.     Theo.    felt  the 


MEMORIAL. 


55 


meaning  of  all  this  as  keenly  as  we  did 
ourselves,  and  for  many  days  wandered 
lonely  over  the' house,  as  if  searching  for 
his  lost  mate.  Awakeninor  the  first  morn- 
ing  in  one  of  his  pensive  moods,  his 
mother  asked  him,  "Wouldn't  you  be  glad 
to  see  Georgie  come  back  into  this  room 
now?"  With  a  very  confident  tone,  he 
answered,  "Mama,  he  is  here!  When- 
ever I'm  a  good  boy,  God  always  sends  a 
sweet,  happy  little  angel  to  stay  with  me  ; 
and  I'm  sure  He  wouldn't  send  any  one 
but  Georgie."  All  these  may  seem  to  be 
but  trivial  incidents  to  record  even  in  so 
unpretending  a  volume.  But  remember 
this  is  a  child's  biography,  and  is  written 
for  the  eye  and  heart  of  those  who  know 
how  much  of  every  home-life  is  made  up 
of  the  childish  words  and  acts  of  those 
young  mirrors  in  which  we  see  ourselves. 
This  is  written,  too,  for  those  who  know 


56  THE  EMPTY  CRIB. 

too  well  what  it  is  to  wait  and  weep  in 
vain,  — 

"  For  the  touch  of  a  vanished  hand, 
And  the  sound  of  a  voice  that  is  still." 


But  to  resume  our  narrative.  During 
his  visit  with  us,  last  autumn,  my  beloved 
brother,  Newman  Hall,  of  London,  be- 
came very  fond  of  the  boys,  and  had 
many  a  merry  romp  with  them,  carrying 
them  around  the  room  on  his  back,  and 
swinging  them  up  in  his  arms  to  the  ceil- 
ing. Georgie  went  into  these  romps  with' 
a  glee  that  made  his  eyes  glisten ;  and 
one  of  the  most  characteristic  pictures  of 
Brother  Hall  in  my  memory,  represents 
him  cantering  through  the  house,  play- 
ing "pig-a-back,"  with  a  jolly  face  peer- 
ing over  each  shoulder. 

On  the  last  sabbath  morning  of  his 
sojourn  in  America,  he  sat  in  my  family- 


MEMORIAL. 


57 


pew,  and  heard  a  few  simple  thoughts  on 
God's  method  of  dealing  with  His  people 
in  "stirring  up  their  nests"  of  domestic 
enjoyment.  One  of  the  earliest  letters  of 
my  friend,  after  his  return  to  London, 
commences  thus  :  — 

"How  little  I  thought,  my  dear  C , 

when  I  heard  you  describe  (as  I  felt  you 
did)  your  own  flaxen-haired  child,  that  it 
was  yoxLT  nest,  which  was  to  be  thus 
"stirred"!  God  help  you  !  Mine  is  the 
constant  grief  of  never  having  had  a 
child  in  the  home-nest.  Yours  has  been 
the  repeated  joy  of  receiving  —  the  con- 
tinued joy  of  retaining  —  such  treasures  ; 
and  now,  all  at  once,  you  have  to  endure 
the  blow  of  the  sudden  7'emoval  of  the 
object  of  such  accumulated  love  and  de- 
light !  Only  He  who  gives  can  help  you 
to  endure  the  stroke ;  and  His  name  is 
Father!      But     this    means,     oh,     how 


58  THE  EMPTY  CRIB, 

much  !  Dear  boy  !  I  did  not  think,  when 
I  mounted  him  on  my  shoulder,  and 
played  with  him,  that  I  was  so  near  a 
cherub  (soon  to  be).  What  remarkable 
intelligence  and  childish  faith  he  seems 
to  have  indicated  !  Those  traits  of  intel- 
lect and  early  goodness  endear  him  the 
more,  and  aggravate  the  loss.  Yet  they 
show  the  beauty  of  the  work  of  God  in 
him,  and  his  meetness  for  such  a  promo- 
tion. It  would  be  an  impertinence  to 
remind  3'Ou  of  any  of  the  trite  arguments 
of  consolation. 

"  It  is  all  very  well  to  be  told  how  he  has 
been  saved  from  the  sorrows  and  perils 
of  earth.  You  wanted  to  see  him  wpheld 
amid  the  perils  by  God's  grace,  doing  a 
brave,  true-hearted  man's  work  in  this 
life,  and  then  receiving  his  reward  up 
yonder.  It  is  easy  to  say  that  he  has 
'*only  gone  on  before."    You  wanted  him 


MEMORIAL. 


59 


as  a  companion  /lere.  It  /s  a  grief,  —  a 
terrible  loss, — which  I  can  only  imagine. 
But  He  who  made  a  fathers  heart  knows 
the  pain,  and  knows,  too,  how  to  soothe 
it.  May  He  be  with  you  and  your  sor- 
rowing household,  and  give  you  sunshine 
through  your  tears  !  " 

In  a  later  letter.  Brother  Hall  says, — 
"  I  keep  the  photograph  of  your  dear 
boys  on  my  table  before  me  where  I  write. 
You  would  have  been  here,  and  I  rejoic- 
ing in  your  fellowship,  and  enjoying  with 
you  some  of  our  old  English  scenes,  if 
3^our  boy  Georgie  had  not  gone  home  to 
heaven.  But  his  was  the  des^  journey 
after  all.  It  costs  many  tears  to  see  those 
we  love  taken  there  ;  but  we  could  hardly 
be  so  selfish  as  to  call  them  back.  *I 
shall  go  to  him,'  said  a  bereaved  father 
of  old.  Heaven  is  not  far  off.  You  and 
I  may  have  to  go  there  by  a  slow  train ; 


6o  THE  EMPTY  CRIB. 

but  then,  again,  God  may  send  for  us  by 
the  *  express '  I  And  wont  one  of  us  look 
out  for  the  other?  Which  it  may  be,  God 
only  knovveth.  I  sometimes  hope  it  may 
be  myself.  My  precious  mother  is  visit- 
ing us  at  the  age  of  eighty ;  but  we  must 
soon  part  from  her.  Love  to  her  has 
been  a  passion  from  my  infancy.  I  shall 
so  want  to  go  when  she  goes.  But  it  is 
best  to  have  no  will  of  our  own ;  but  to 
wait  our  Master's  will,  and  meanwhile  to 
do  diligently  and  thoroughly  each  day's 
work  for  Him." 

I  trust  that  my  brother  will  not  chide 
me  for  giving  to  other  eyes  this  glimpse 
into  his  own  heart-life.  But  the  author 
of  "  Come  to  Jesus  "  belongs  to  the  whole 
Church  of  Jesus  ;  and  to  them  every  syl- 
lable of  this  artless  letter  will  be  fragrant 
with  the  "  odor  of  the  ointment."  With 
this  epistle  of  Christian  love,  came  also 


MEMORIAL.  61 

across  the  water  a  like  expression  of 
sympathy  from  my  old  Brooklyn  asso- 
ciate, and  now  the  pastor  of  the  Ameri- 
can Chapel  in  Paris.  Let  bereaved 
parents  read  this  and  the  succeeding 
letters  as  if  every  word  of  consolation 
were  addressed  personally  to  them. 

Paris,  France,  May  19,  1868. 

My  dear  Brother  and  Friend, — 
The  papers  brought  me  the  sorrowful 
intelligence  of  your  bereavement  several 
days  since ;  but  I  thought  you  might 
possibly  be  on  your  way  across  the  ocean 
before  a  line  of  fraternal  sympathy  could 
reach  you.  Last  sabbath,  I  was  glad- 
dened with  a  sight  of  your  elder  T.  M. 

S 's  face  in  the  chapel ;  and  I  learned 

from  him,  that  you  now  feel  obliged  to 
relinquish  the  idea  of  an  European  tour 
this  summer. 


62  THE  EMPTY   CRIB. 

In  my  precious  photograph -book, 
where  the  images  of  dear  old  Brooklyn 
friends  meet  me  with  a  look  of  welcome 
that  often  draws  tears  to  my  eyes,  there 
is  a  card  with  thy  face  upon  it,  and  oppo- 
site, in  one  chair,  are  cuddled  up  together 
the  forms  of  two  babies  that  you  and  I 
crowed  over  more  than  once,  when  "the 
tw^ins "  were  an  "  institution  "  in  your 
household.  I  am  not  asharned  to  say, 
my  brother  beloved,  that  I  have  wept 
bitterly  over  those  mementoes  of  years 
ago.  My  heart  is  full  for  you  in  what  I 
know  is  one  of  the  keenest  afflictions  you 
were  ever  called  to  suffer.  I  wish  no 
wish  more  tenderly  this  morning  than 
that  it  were  in  my  power  to  utter  one 
word  that  would  give  comfort  to  you  and 
yours. 

You  know  that  every  word  I  now  send 
you  is  written  out  of  the  very   valley  of 


MEMORIAL.  63 

the  shadow  of  death  in  which  I  have 
been  treading  these  weeks  past.  In  the 
loss  of  him  who  was  at  once  a  brother 
and  my  own  child  all  in  one,  I  have  suf- 
fered beyond  any  experience  I  have  ever 
known  in  a  somewhat  tried  and  broken 
life.  And  so,  down  here  in  the  dark,  I 
cannot  say  that  I  bid  you  welcome  as 
you  come  down.  Such  "misery  does 
not  love  company."  But  I  feel  an  irre- 
pressible desire  to  help  you  somewhat, 
and  lift  you  as  I  can. 

It  is  just  a  question  now  how  we  are 
to  stand  such  shocks,  and  not  betray  the 
hopes  and  promises  of  the  new  life.  "  A 
good  man  struggling  with  adversity  is  a 
sight  for  the  gods  to  look  at,"  said  the 
heathen  long  before  Christ  came  to  earth. 
And  may  we  not  feel  a  thankfulness  and 
glory  in  the  thought  that  even  now  there 
IS  no  shadow  between  our  Father's  face 


64  THE  EMPTT  CRIB. 

and  our  own?  My  poor  head,  on  the 
stone-pillow,  looks  right  up  through  all 
space,  without  an  intervening  cloud,  to 
the  very  presence  of  the  Master ;  and  I 
am  ready,  this  moment,  to  w^hisper  to 
any  ascending  angel  on  the  ladder,  "tell 
him  I  am  unbroken  and  acquiescent  in 
His  will ! " 

Meantime,  I  doubt  not  that  you  feel, 
at  times,  that  terrible  sense  of  inscctirity 
which  makes  you  look  tremblingly  on 
every  thing  that  yet  remains  to  you. 
Some  of  us  have  been  through  all  that, 
and  it  does  not  come  to  any  thing.  Such 
misgivings  may  distress  us  sorely ;  but 
they  do  not  render  any  thing  we  love  the 
more  unsafe.  To  fear  an  earthquake, 
may  make  one  restless ;  but  it  does  not 
do  any  thing  like  heaving  the  earth  after 
all.  God  does  not  follow  our  foolish 
alarms ;    but  He  follows    His  own  pur- 


MEMORIAL,  65 

poses.  And  one  of  those  purposes  is  to 
hide  His  face  for  a  moment',  and  another 
is,  with  everlasting  kindness  to  draw 
those  who  trust  Him.  Whom  He  loveth, 
He  oft  doth  chasten. 

So,  my  dear  old  fellow -worker,  I 
stretch  out  my  hand  to  you  over  the 
ocean.  We  cannot  carry  each  other's 
burthens ;  but  we  can  entreat  each  other 
to  be  brave  and  unflinching.  "  And  Jon- 
athan, Saul's  son,  went  forth  into  the 
wood  unto  David,  and  strengthened  his 
hand  in  God.''''  Never  doubt  for  a  mo- 
ment that  not  only  will  it  be  "well  with 
the  child ; "  but  you  will  more  and 
more  see  that  "it  was  good  for  me  to 
be  afflicted."  The  sweetest  office  of 
Agnes'  "  little  key  "  was  to  open  the 
locked  hearts  of  those  who  had  been 
bereaved  of  their  children.  Praying 
for  you,  over  and  over  again,  that  our 
5 


66  THE  EMPTT  CRIB. 

good  God  will  be  pitiful,   I  remain,  as 

ever.  Fraternally  yours, 

C.  S.  R. 

One  of  the  venerated  pastors  of  the 
"Collegiate  Church,"  in  New  York,  had 
been  prepared,  by  no  small  measure  of 
bereavements,  to  "weep  with  those  who 
weep  ; "  and  three-score  years  of  experi- 
ence of  God's  grace  enabled  him  to  send 
us  these  words  of  fatherly  sympathy  :  — 

"Since  I  heard  of  the  sudden  death  of 
your  lovely  twin-boy,  it  has  been  in  my 
heart  to  write  you.  I  am  not  a  stranger 
to  like  afflictions  with  this  in  which  God 
has  visited  you  and  your  household.  Of 
the  eight  children  whom  the  Lord  gave 
us,  He  has  removed  six  unto  Himself; 
three  in  infancy,  one  in  early  childhood, 
and  the  two  whom  you  remember,  at  the 
ages  of  nineteen  and  twenty-one.  None 
but  a  parent  who  has  been  similarly  tried, 


MEMORIAL.  67 

can  enter  into  full  sympathy  with  you. 
An  additional  interest  was  imparted  to 
your  little  boy,  in  being  one  of  the  lovely 
twins.  There  is  an  exquisite  tenderness 
in  the  heart  of  a  mother,  which  a  father's 
may  resemble,  but  cannot  equal.  My 
wife  desires  me  to  express  her  tender- 
est  sympathy  with  yours.  May  she  be 
drawn,  by  this  very  sorrow,  closer  to  the 
Saviour  who  has  taken  her  little  lamb 
into  His  own  arms  in  heaven !  May 
this  trial  deepen  your  own  experience  of 
that  Saviour's  love,  and  enable  you  to 
minister  more  effectually  the  consolations 
wherewith  you  are  comforted,  to  the 
children  of  sorrow.  Your  Redeemer  is 
with  you  in  this  furnace  ;  and  not  a  hair 
of  your  head  shall  be  harmed. 

"Your  brother  in  the  faith  and  service 
of  Jesus. 

"T.  D.  w." 


68  THE  EMPTY  CRIB. 

Out  of  the  fulness  of  his  warm  heart, 
—  that  heart  which  has  so  endeared  it- 
self to  his  Rochester  neighbors,  in  their 
hours  of  trouble,  —  Dr.  Shaw  sent  us 
this  characteristic  note. 

"I  see  by  the  'Evangelist,'  my  dearly 
beloved  brother,  that  a  shadow  has 
fallen  upon  your  household.  But  it  is  the 
shadow  of  the  One  who  came  to  give  as 
He  came  to  take,  the  shadow  of  Him 
whose  shadow  is  light.  My  brother  and 
sister,  how  gladly  would  those  who  love 
you  take  this  great  grief  and  divide  it 
among  themselves,  and  not  leave  one 
single  drop  for  you.  This  we  cannot  do  ; 
but  perhaps  something  better  than  this. 
We  can  commend  you  to  Him  who  heals 
the  broken  hearts,  who  binds  up  the 
wounded  spirit,  and  who  can  re^iore  all 
that  He  takes  away,  —  and  how  much 
more  beside  !     Oh,  what  a  child  that  will 


MEMORIAL.  '        69 

be  when  you  meet  him  again  !  so  glori- 
ous, so  wonderfully  changed,  that,  like 
Mary  at  the  sepulchre,  you  will  have 
to  look  the  second  time  before  you  can 
recognize  him. 

"  But  this  is  a  sacred  as  well  as  a  sad 
hour,  and  I  would  not  trespass  on  it,  much 
as  I  love  you,  much  as  I  would  do  for 
you.  Alas !  that  we  should  find  our- 
selves so  weak,  in  that  hour  when  we 
would  do  the  most.  Again  I  wish  you, 
dear,  dear  friends,  grace,  mercy,  peace, 
and    consolation,  —  and  all  in  that  One 

who  hath  dealt  the  blow  ! 

"J.  B.  S." 

The  intimate  associate  of  many  happy 
hours  wrote  me  from  Stockbridge,  Mass., 
on  the  same  day  :  — 

"I  was  very  much  surprised  and  pained, 
on  taking  up  the  'Evening  Post'  in  the 
cars  last  night  (on  my  way  here),  to  find 


*jO  THE  EMPTT  CRIB. 

the  announcement  of  your  little  boy's 
death !  My  dear  friend,  what  can  I  say 
except  that  it  is  the  Lord's  doing,  and 
therefore  must  be  right.  He  knows  just 
what  is  best  both  for  you  and  for  the 
child.  He  has  gathered  another  lily  to 
the  Conservatory  above.  The  Lord  Jesus 
loved  him  more,  and  has  done  more  for 
him  than  you  can  possibly  do,  and  He 
has  taken  him.  I  think  that  I  can,  in 
some  faint  degree,  realize  the  great  blank 
which  this  must  make  in  your  household  , 
for  the  little  ones  so  entwine  themselves 
about  our  hearts,  that  any  rupture  of  the 
strands  is  like  breaking  the  very  heart- 
strinf{s  themselves.  But  this  will  make 
one  more  attraction  to  heaven,  —  having 
one  so  dear  already  there  before  you. 
He  has  gone  to  that  blessed  household  so 
largely  composed  of  little  children.  He 
will   hunger   no    more,    neither   will    he 


MEMORIAL.  71 

thirst  any  more,  nor  will  the  sun  light  on 

him,  nor  any  heat.    But,  with  the  Saviour 

who  so  loves  little  children,  he  is  in  the 

Golden  City,  in  a  bliss  of  which  we  can 

form    no    conception.     May   the   blessed 

Comforter  give  you  of  His  comfort,  and 

enable  you  to  say,  'The  Lord  gave,  and 

the  Lord  hath  taken  away ;  blessed  be 

the  name  of  the  Lord ! ' 

"Affectionately  yours, 

"  P.  C." 

"The  elder  saints 
Seemed  to  my  ejes  a  countless  multitude; 
But  these  cherubic  babes  outnumbered  them, 
As  the  dark  pine-trees  of  Siberia's  wilds, 
Unfell'd,  immeasurable  forests,  yield 
In  numbers  to  the  ferns  and  summer  flowers 
Which  grow  beneath  their  shadowing  boughs, 
And  fringe  their  gnarled  roots  with  beauty." 

BiCKERSTETH. 

On  the  same  sabbath  in  which  our 
darling  boy  left  us  to  "  go  up  higher,"  my 
good  friend  Governor  Buckingham  was 


72  THE  EMPTT  CRIB. 

called  to  part  with  his  wife,  —  one  of  the 
noblest  of  women  and  of  wives.  The 
last  time  I  ever  saw  Mrs.  B.,  —  at  Sara- 
toga,—  our  boy  was  standing  by  her  side  ; 
and  two  more  perfect  pictures  of  exuberant 
health  there  were  not  in  that  whole  draw- 
ing-room. In  a  note,  sent  us  a  few  days 
after  his  wife's  departure,  the  governor 
says,  — 

"  I  had  noticed  the  death  of  your  dear 
boy,  which  occurred  on  the  same  da} 
on  which  m}^  beloved  wife  was  called 
"  into  that  joy  which  is  to  be  found  only  in 
the  presence  of  Christ  Jesus,  whom  her 
soul  loved.  I  know  what  it  is  to  bury  all 
the  hopes  which  cluster  around  a  beau- 
tiful, bright,  and  only  son,  —  a  little 
younger  than  yours ;  and  in  that  grief 
we  can  to  some  extent  S3'mpathize  with 
each  other.  But  you  know  not  what 
loneliness  and  desolation   follow  the  re- 


MEMORIAL. 


73 


moval  of  the  very  light  and  life  of  your 
home.  God  grant  that  you  may  be  kept 
in  blissful  ignorance  for  many,  many 
years  !  I  pray,  too,  that  God  may  find  it 
best  to  spare  your  other  dear  boy ;  and 
may  he  comfort  you  and  your  dear  wife 
abundantly  !  We  will  struggle  on  a  little 
longer ;  and  then  meet  these  loved  ones 
where  there  is  no  pain,  no  sickness,  no 
sin,  no  sorrow. 

"Ever  yours, 

*'W.  A.  B." 

I  find  it  very  difficult  to  know  where 
to  stop,  as  I  look  at  the  piles  of  kind 
and  sympathetic  letters  which  lie  before 
me,  —  every  one  of  them  moistened  w^ith 
tears  of  gratitude  as  they  w^ere  read. 
One  touch  of  sorrow  makes  the  whole 
world  kin.  Perhaps  one  reason  why 
God  leads  us  into  the  vale  of  bereave- 
ment is  that  our  hearts  may  waim  to- 


74  THE  EMPTT  CRIB. 

wards  others  who  are  suffering  the  same 
griefs  as  ourselves.  When  we  have  laid 
one  of  our  own  children  in  the  grave, 
every  other  little  grave  becomes  an  ob- 
ject of  interest ;  and  we  can  hardly  pass 
a  doorway  with  a  white  ribbon  floating 
from  it,  without  a  desire  to  go  in  and 
inquire  the  particulars  of  the  tender  sor- 
'row,  and  to  offer  a  syllable  or  two  of 
condolence.  No  stroke  touches  all  hearts 
like  the  death  of  children.  ''My  eyes 
are  still  wet  from  reading  the  story  of 
your  little  boy's  death  in  the  'Indepen- 
dent,'" wrote  an  eminent  civilian  to  us. 
The  tenderest  episode  in  Lincoln's  career 
of  trial  and  glory  is  the  breaking  down 
of  his  father's  heart  over  the  loss  of  the 
boy  "Willie."  To  this  day,  Horace 
Greeley  is  ready  to  turn  away  from  the 
most  gifted  and  entertaining  guests,  and 
to  talk,  by  the  hour,  with  any  one  who 


MEMORIAL.  75 

will  listen  to  him,  about  that  beautiful 
and  idolized  son  "Pickie,"  who  was 
buried  nearly  twenty  years  ago.  I  know 
of  few  finer  passages  from  Mr.  Greeley's 
prolific  pen  than  the  following,  with 
which  he  closes  a  statistical  sketch  of 
Lake  Superior  and  its  shores  :  — 

"Who  shall  then  know  or  care  that  I, 
a  tired  wanderer  from  the  city's  ceaseless 
strife,  once  roamed  along  these  shores, 
patiently  turning  over  the  pebbles  and 
sand,  in  search  of  agates  and  cornelians, 
or  joyously  gathering  the  red  berries  of 
the  mountain-ash,  —  and  all  for  thee,  dear 
son  of  my  heart !  polar  summer  of  my 
rugged  life  !  then  so  anxiously  awaiting 
me  in  our  distant  cottage  home,  as  now 
more  calmly  in  the  radiant  Land  of  Souls? 
God  keep  me  worthy  of  thy  love  through 
the  weary  years,  till  I  meet  thee  and 
greet    thee    in    that    world    where    the 


76  THE  EMPTT  CRIB. 

loving  re-unite,   to   be   parted   no    more 
for  ever." 

I  should  like  to  have  known  that  noble- 
man w^ho  is  said  to  have  kept  a  certain 
box  beside  his  bed  as  the  most  treasured 
article  in  his  mansion,  and,  in  his  will, 
made  a  provision  for  its  farther  safe-keep- 
ing. After  his  death,  the  box  so  sacredly 
guarded  was  opened,  and,  instead  of 
imagined  stores  of  gold  or  jewels,  it  was 
found  to  contain  only  a  few  playthings  of 
a  darling  child,  who  had  died  many  long 
years  before  !  How  true  to  nature  is  the 
New-Testament  history  which  pictures  to 
us  the  ruler  Jairus  hastening  to  bring  the 
divine  Healer  to  the  bedside  of  his  sick 
daughter,  and  the  anxious  father  beseech- 
ing the  Saviour  to  "Come  down,  ere  my 
child  die ! "  Then,  as  now,  the  blow 
which  makes  the  heart  bleed  the  soonest 
is  that  which  falls  upon  the  head  of  a 
beloved  child. 


MEMORIAL.  77 

It  has  been  from  those  parents  who 
have  themselves  been  bereaved  that  we 
have  received  many  of  the  sweetest  let- 
ters of  condolence.  In  the  subjoined 
passages  from  a  few  of  these  letters  are 
the  experiences  of  some  who  have  learned 
in  their  own  homes  the  lessons  of  an 
empty  crib.  The  first  is  from  the  author 
of  that  delightful  hymn,  — 

*'  My  faith  looks  up  to  Thee !  " 

Bible  House,  N.Y.,  April  21,  1868. 
My  dear  Brother,  —  I  know  that 
sorrow  is  a  sacred  thing,  on  which  a 
stranger  has  no  right  to  intrude ;  but  I 
do  not  count  myself  a  stranger,  though 
we  have  not  met  as  often  as  I  could  wish. 
If  I  have  no  other  ground  to  justify  my 
sending  this  note,  this  you  will  allow  to 
be  a  valid  one,  that  my  dear  wife  and 
myself  have  committed  seven  sweet  chil- 


78  THE   EMPTY  CRIB. 

dren  to  the  dust !  All  of  them  that  was 
mortal^  I  mean ;  and  now  we  always 
think  with  a  tranquil  joy  of  our  family  in 
heaven.  Full  well  we  know  how  to 
sympathize  with  you.  Our  own  experi- 
ence has  been,  that  the  sympathy  of  those 
who  have  themselves  suffered  has  some- 
what more  of  meaning  and  of  comfort  in 
it  than  that  of  most  others.  I  do  not 
doubt  that  you  will  take  this  affliction 
lovingly,  as  from  the  hand  of  your  faith- 
ful Lord ;  and  that  He  will  send  you  such 
special  gifts,  such  delightful  revelations 
of  Himself,  that  you  will  have  no  dif- 
ficulty in  saying,  "  He  hath  done  all 
things  wcll.^^  It  is,  probably,  in  part,  for 
the  sake  of  their  flocks  that  ministers  are 
called  to  suffer;  that,  like  our  Lord,  we 
may  the  more  readily  be  touched  with  a 
feeling  of  others'  griefs.  A  child  in 
Heaven  !      It  is   a   thrilling  thought.      I 


MEMORIAL.  79 

never  knew  how  much  there  was  ex- 
pressed in  the  Bible  of  divine  love  to 
little  children  till  I  searched  for  it  beside 
my  precious  dead.  I  pray  God  to  give 
you  and  yours  all  comfort  in  this  great 
sorrow,  and  believe  me, 

Faithfully  yours,  r.  p. 

Jersey  City.  April  23,  1868. 

My  dear  and  afflicted  Brother, — 
Although  not  claiming  the  intimacy  with 
you  accorded  to  many  others,  yet  to-day 
I  feel  very  near  to  you,  by  the  similarity 
of  our  grief.  Twelve  weeks  ago,  this 
day,  God,  who  kindly  gave  us  our  twin- 
boys,  took  one  away.  He  spared  them 
both,  in  mercy  to  us,  three  and  a  halt 
years ;  but  one  grew  too  lovely  for  earth, 
and  our  heavenly  Father  took  him  unto 
Himself.  Every  Thursday  is  sacred  to 
us,  on  account  of  the  memory  of  our  lost 


8o  THE  EMPTT  CRIB. 

treasure,  —  lost  to  us,  but  gained  to  God. 
Every  grief  is  solitary^  and  God  only 
knows  our  grief,  and  He  only  knows 
yours. 

This  sorrow  we  must  so  heal  (by  the 
divine  help)  that  it  may  make  us  purer 
and  stronger  for  the  Master's  service. 
May  God  sanctify  your  sorrow  greatly, 
and  give  you  the  support  which  I  too 
sadly  know  you  will  need !  Bonar's 
hopes  are  ours,  —  as  he  gives  them  in 
the  lines,  — 

"Years  are  moving  quickly  past, 
And  time  will  soon  be  o'er; 
Death  shall  be  swallowed  up  of  life, 
On  that  immortal  shore. 

"Then  shall  we  clasp  that  hand  once  more, 
And  smooth  that  golden  hair; 
Then  shall  we  kiss  those  lips  again, 
When  Lucy  shall  be  there." 

In  deep  sympathy,  yours, 

G.  H.  P 


MEMORIAL.  8 1 

Allegheny  City,   Maj  i6,  1868. 

My  dear  Sir,  —  If  it  ever  falls  in 
your  way  to  visit  Allegheny  Cemetery, 
you  v^dll  there  see  "a  flower"  on  three 
"  little  graves."  "  Aima,  aged  seven  years  ; 
Sadie,  aged  five  years  ;  Ltllie,  aged  three 
years;"  all  died  within  six  days,  and  all 
of  scarlet  fever  !  It  sometimes  may  rec- 
oncile us  to  our  own  affliction  to  hear  of 
one  still  greater  elsew^here ;  and  this  is 
the  reason  why  I,  a  perfect  stranger, 
venture  to  trespass  upon  you  in  your  sore 
bereavement,  and  to  tell  you  of  my  heart- 
felt sympathy.  I  am  especially  drawn 
towards  your  suffering  household  because 
your  beloved  boy  died  with  that  dreadful 
disease,  the  scarlet  fever,  which,  in  its 
malignant  form,  no  medical  skill  seems 
yet  able  to  master.  May  God,  in  his  all- 
wise  providence,  spare  the  life  of  the 
remaining  twin-boy. 


82  THE  EMPTY  CRIB. 

Our  little  ones  were  as  lovely  in  char- 
acter as  in  appearance.  We  trembled 
often  at  the  thought  that  their  stay  with  us 
might  not  be  long,  as  they  seemed  to  be 
ripening  for  heaven.  The  older  ones 
were  wont  to  pray  often  for  me  when  I 
was  away,  and  very  tenderly  for  me,  if 
any  thing  occurred  to  trouble  or  grieve 
me.  When  Annie  was  sick,  and  she  saw 
a  tear  on  my  cheek,  she  wiped  it  away, 
patted  my  face,  and  said,  "  Don't  cry,  dear 
ma ;  you  are  a  dear  good  ma ;  but  let 
me  speak  to  God."  She  clasped  her  little 
hands,  and  said,  "O  God!  wont  you 
please  make  mamma  try  and  not  cry^  and 
please  take  the  pain  out  of  my  knees. 
Amen." 

When  Sadie  was  brought  into  the  room, 
attacked  in  the  same  way  (with  severe 
vomiting),  she  smiled  sweetly,  and  said, 
"Ma,    I    am    not   much    sick."      I    said, 


MEMORIAL.  83 

"Daughter,  would  you  be  afraid  to  be 
much  sick,  and  perhaps  die?''  Her  cheer- 
ful answer  was,  "No,  no:  if  God  wants 
me,  I  am  willing  to  go."  When  the 
sprightly  fairy-like  little  Lillie  with  her 
golden  curls,  was  brought  into  the  nur- 
sery,—  prostrated  from  the  first,  —  she 
faintly  said,  "Dear  ma,  when  us  all  die, 
us  will  all  be  in  heaven ;  and  that  is  such 
a  nice  place." 

Oh,  what  a  sorrow  was  this!  God 
grant  that  His  hand  be  stayed  with  you  ! 
I  can  feel  now  that  all  that  affliction  was 
needful  for  me.  When  I  go  to  their  three 
little  graves,  week  after  week,  and  place 
their  favorite  flowers  there  (as  they  come 
in  their  season) ,  I  fancy  that  I  can  still 
feel  that  soft  little  hand  patting  me,  and 
saying,  "Don't  cry,  ma  ;  don't  cry. ^^  When 
there,  I  realize  that  their  spirits  are  near 
me,  and  I  come  home  comforted  and  re- 


84  THE  EMPTY  CRIB. 

freshed.      It  may  be   so   with   you    and 
yours  in  days  to  come. 

A  Reader  of  the  Independent.* 


NORTHVILLE,    CaYUGA    Co.,  N.Y., 

July  9,  1868. 

My  dear  Mrs.  C, — When  the  sad 
intelligence  of  the  death  of  your  beautiful 
little  Georgie  reached  us,  it  found  us 
most  anxiously  watching  at  the  sick-bed 
of  our  aged  father  ;  but  he  is  now  quite 
restored.  Not  a  day  has  passed  that  I 
have  not  thought  of  you  and  of  your 
great  sorrow.  I  have  made  numerous 
attempts  to  write  you,  which  have  only 
ended  in  blinding  tears  and  choking  sobs. 
I  know  so  well  how  bitter  a  cup  it  is  to 
drink  when   a  darling  child  is   snatched 

*  This  is  but  one  of  many  kind  letters  received 
from  unknown  "readers  of  the  'Independent,'" 
and  "of  the  N.Y.  '  Evansrelist.'" 


MEMORIAL.  85 

away  so  suddenly  :  one  of  my  own  house- 
hold's treasures  was  taken  in  the  same 
manner  with  only  a  few  hours'  longer 
illness.  I  know,  too,  how  poor  and  power- 
less are  words  to  comfort  the  heart  so 
sorely  smitten  as  yours.  When  all  looks 
dark,  and  the  sunshine  even  is  sad,  and 
even  what  once  made  life  joyous  but 
adds  to  its  gloom ;  when  every  thing 
around  you  reminds  you  of  the  loved 
one,  —  then  there  is  only  One,  who,  in 
such  an  "  even  time,"  can  give  you 
"light." 

I  know  how  painful  must  this,  the  anni- 
versary of  the  birth  of  your  dear  boys 
be,  bringing  back  as  it  does  so  many 
sadly-sweet  memories  of  past  joys  and 
disappointed  hopes  of  a  bright  future  for 
noble  Georgie ;  for  we  love  our  little  ones 
not  only  for  what  they  are,  but  for  what 
they  are  to  be.     I  cannot  express  to  you 


86  THE  EMPTl^  CRIB. 

how  much  I  loved  and  admired  your 
little  boys.  (I  hope  I  did  not  covet  them.) 
Theo.^  with  his  merry  prattle  and  win- 
some ways ;  Georgle^  with  noble  brow 
and  thoughtful  face,  —  once  seen,  were 
never  to  be  forgotten.  I  have  ever  loved 
them,  and  felt  such  an  interest  in  them 
as  I  felt  in  no  others. 

•  •  •  •  • 

S.  M.  A. 


[An  Indian  lettei,  —  enclosing  seeds  of  flowers.] 
Vermont,  May  19,  1868. 
For  many  moons  the  words  of  the  pale- 
face brave  have  come  to  the  heart  of  his 
red  sister,  —  sweet  as  the  murmuring  of 
rippling  waters  to  the  thirsty  lips  of  the 
weary  w^anderer.  The  steel  tongue  has 
come  to  the  ear  of  your  red  sister,  and 
told  her  that  the  Great  Spirit  has  entered 
the  door  of  your  Iodide,  and  taken  to  the 


MEMORIAL.  87 

happy  hunting-ground  a  light  from  3^our 
wigwam.  Ah !  my  brother,  the  Great 
Spirit  has  a  beautiful  garden,  where  live 
the  little  red  and  pale-face  pappooses,  free 
from  all  earth's  storms.  The  Great 
Spirit,  my  brother,  can  take  better  care 
of  your  little  Georgie,  give  him  a  better 
home,  and  an  education  among  the 
angels  !  The  oak  grows  strong  by  the 
storm.  So  will  your  love  to  the  Great 
Spirit  grow  deeper,  since  He  has  taken 
to  His  care  your  beautiful  boy. 

Will  you  plant  on  his  grave  these  star- 
flowers?  As  they  come  up  with  their 
sinless  blossoms,  may  they  cheer  you  in 
your  sorrow,  and  bring  him  near  in 
memory  and  hope  !  Few  places  on  earth 
are  nearer  heaven  than  the  spot  where 
rests  our  dead. 

Your  red  sister  has  said  her  talk,  and 
would  hear  from  the  pale  brave.     With 


88  THE  EMPTY  CRIB. 

greetings  to  the  gentle  partner  of  your 
sorrows,  I  am  yours  in  Christian  love. 

Your  red  sister,  C. 


West  44TH  Street,  New  York, 
April  20,  1868. 

The  shadow  has  indeed  fallen  upon 
your  household,  and  one  of  its  sunbeams 
has  been  shut  out.  I  know  how  dark  is 
that  shadow,  and  how  yearningly  the 
heart  seeks  after  its  sunbeam ;  and  with 
deep  sympathy  and  sorrow,  I  take  you 
by  the  hand,  and  mingle  my  tears  with 
yours. 

I  well  remember  the  dear  boy,  as  I 
saw  him  at  Saratoga  last  summer,  so  full 
of  life  and  promise,  so  joyous,  twining 
himself  so  lovingly  about  your  hearts ; 
and  the  thought  comes  welling  up,  — 
has  that  life  gone  out?     Is  that  all  that 


MEMORIAL.  %(^ 

we  are  to  have  of  Georgie?  No,  no: 
he  is  not  dead.  The  Master  had  need  of 
him,  and  said,  "Come  up  higher,"  and 
so,  on  that  holy  day,  sent  His  chariot  of 
winged  angels,  and  took  him  home. 

My  brother  and  sister,  look  not  into 
the  grave :  your  boy  is  not  there ;  he  is 
above,  with  the  redeemed  ;  his  life  has 
just  begun.  Look  up,  and  see  him  in 
the  arms  of  the  blessed  Jesus,  who 
smilingly  says  to  you,  "Suffer  the  little 
child  to  come  unto  Me."  In  the  spiritual 
garden,  you  have  now  a  new  interest : 
your  own  plant  is  there ;  and  the  great 
and  good  Gardener  has  Himself  under- 
taken its  culture.  You  may  be  sure  it 
shall  become  a  glorious  tree.  Let  not 
your  hearts  be  troubled :  a  heavenly 
mansion  has  received  your  darling  boy, 
and  ere  long  j'ou  shall  go  to  greet  him 
there;  then,  if  not  before,  will  you  learn 


pO  THE  EMPTY   CRIB. 

the  full  import  of  those  blessed  words, 

"What  I  do,  thou  knowest  not  now,  but 

shalt  know  hereafter,^^ 

T.  S.  B. 


Oh  !  what  sorrow,  my  precious  friends, 
has  this  day  brought  me  :  for  your  sorrow 
is  my  sorrow;  and  your  grief,  mine  also. 

G called  me  in  hurried  accents,  and 

read  to  me  the  terrible  announcement. 
Can  it  be  possible  that  the  angel  of  death 
has  snatched  away  one  of  those  lovely 
cherub-boys,  the  pride  and  joy  of  your 
home?  Would  to  God  it  were  impossible  ! 
Oh  that  I  had  wings  to  fly  to  you  this 
moment,  to  tell  you  how  my  heart  is  over- 
whelmed by  your  grief!  Amid  your 
tears,  and  in  your  deepest  sorrow,  let 
your  hearts  swell  with  gratitude,  that  his 
precious  twin  is  still  spared  to  you  !  God 
bless,  sustain,  and  comfort  you  both ;  and 


MEMORIAL. 


91 


bind  your  hearts  all  the  more  closely  to 

each  other  and  to  Him ! 

S.  C.  H. 


This  morning,  I  was  telling  little 
Charlie  —  our  only  son,  and  two  months 
younger  than  your  treasure  —  all  you 
have  written  in  the  "Evangelist,"  of 
Georgie's  illness  and  death.  When  I 
told  him  that  Georgie  asked,  "  What  will 
Jesus  say  to  me  when  He  sees  me?" 
Charlie  answered  immediately,  "Mama, 
He  will  say,  '  Suffer  little  children  to 
come  to  me,  and  forbid  them  not.^" 
Those  words  of  the  blessed  Jesus,  com- 
ing in  such  a  response  from  the  child's 
lips,  had  such  an  heavenly  sound,  that  I 
thought,  surely  those  mourning  parents 
would  be  comforted  by  them  !  No  words 
can  comfort  you  like  those  of  the  precious 
Saviour.     Yet  blessings,  rich  and  large, 


92  THE   EMPTY  CRIB. 

may  be  given  you,  in  answer  to  the  prayer 
of  many,  who,  like  us,  have  never  seen 
you  face  to  face. 

N.  K.  H. 
Michigan,  May  loth. 


My  interest  in  your  twin-boys  has  been 
deepened  by  seeing  their  beautiful  photo- 
graphs ;  and  I  can  realize  how  keen  the 
pang,  how  poignant  the  anguish  of  sepa- 
ration. I  hope  that  by  this  time  the  con- 
solations of  Jesus  have  soothed  your 
grief,  and  fortified  your  courage  to  en- 
dure what  your  heavenly  Father  has  laid 
upon  you.  These  mysteries  of  His  prov- 
idence are  tests  of  the  faith  of  a  Chris- 
tian heart ;  and  though  we  cannot  help 
wondering  why  a  child  of  light  and  hope 
and  grace  should  be  removed,  while  our 
streets  are  noisy  with  waifs  born  into  sin 
and  misfortune  ;  yet  we,  who  see  the  love 


MEMORIAL. 


93 


and  care  of  a  heavenly  Father  over  the 
world,  can  believe  His  wisdom,  and  trust 
His  goodness.  I  hope  that  the  rest  of 
your  children  may  be  spared  to  live  and 
to  work  for  Christ,  which  is  the  highest 
end  of  life  here,  and  which  takes  hold  of 
heaven  hereafter. 

Mrs.  G.  L.  F. 


Death  emptieth  the  house,  but  not  the 
heart.  That  keeps  its  darling  safe,  even 
though  out  of  sight.  I  know  well  the 
ache  of  utter  loneliness,  the  silence  never 
broken  by  a  sound  we  still  keep  listen- 
ing for.  These  are  His  ways  to  draw 
us  nearer  Him.  Then  lean  heavily  on 
Christ.  Lie  down  on  His  promises  ; 
claim  them  for  your  own.  Although 
affliction's  rod  is  made  up  of  many  keen 
twigs,  they  are  all  cut  from  the  tree  of 
life.     Did  it  never  occur  to  vou  that  there 


94 


THE  EMPTT  CRIB. 


is  a  great  spiritual  want  about  those  Chris- 
tians who  have  never  suffered  f  Leigh- 
ton  says,  that  "God  had  only  one  Son 
without  sin,  and  never  one  without  sufl'er- 
ing." 

A  goodly  portion  of  my  own  life  has 
been  spent  on  the  bed  of  an  invalid,  shut 
out  from  all  the  cheerful  and  useful  activ-' 
ities  of  life.  But  my  meditations  of  Him 
have  been  sweet.  During  my  invalid 
life,  —  one  of  intense  suffering,  but  yet  a 
life  of  perfect  peace  in  Jesus,  —  your 
husband's  writings  in  the  "  Independent " 
have  so  comforted  me,  that  I  w^ould  fain 
return  to  you  both  even  one  little  ray  of 

spiritual  comfort. 

A.  E.  A. 

We  lost  our  first-born,  a  bright  beauti- 
ful "Georgie,"  born  one  year  before  your 
own.     On  the  Sabbath   morn   he   came, 


MEMORIAL. 


95 


and  at  the  noon  of  another  glorious 
Sabbath  he  breathed  his  last  sigh  upon 
my  bosom.  Thenceforth  how  inexpres- 
sibly nearer  and  dearer  are  Jesus  and 
heaven  ! 

We  have  been  along  the  shore  of  the 
"dark  flood,"  and  held  the  hand  of  our 
darling  until  the  surge  swept  black  be- 
tween. But  the  path  to  heaven  has  been 
bright  ever  since,  and  still  his  footsteps 
shine  along  the  air,  and  the  gates  above 
stand  evermore  ajar.  Our  best  love  and 
prayers  are  for  you  in  Jesus. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  G.  L.  T. 


I  HAVE  just  noticed  an  article  of  yours 
entitled  "Gathering  the  Grapes,"  and  in 
another  column  of  the  same  paper,  the 
death  of  your  little  twin-son.  I  know 
something  of  the  sorrow  that  has  come  to 


p6  THE  EMPTY  CRIB. 

you  ;  for  we  lost  our  dear  boy  at  two  ^n<\ 
a  half  years  of  age. 

Yet  I  am  sure  that  even  in  this  "wilder- 
ness "  into  which  you  have  been  brought, 
your  heavenly  Father  will  "  give  you 
your  vineyard  from  thence "  so  that  the 
Valley  of  Achor  shall  be  to  you  a  dooi 
of  hope.  Thank  God !  we  sometimes 
get  a  taste  of  "  the  grapes  "  in  what  many 
would  deem  strange  and  dreary  places ; 
and  even  amid  the  dry  sands  of  the  desert, 
the  rich  clusters  are  brought  to  us  by  un- 
seen yet  gentle  hands. 

J.  M.  C. 


What  can  human  sympathy  do  but 
commend  you  to  the  great  Consoler,  who 
wept  with  the  sisters  in  Bethany?  lie 
only  can  heal  bleeding  hearts.  My 
earnest  prayer  goes  forth  to  Him  that  He 
will  sanctify  your  grief  and  make  your 


MEMORIAL.  97 

life  richer  and  sweeter,  and  gently  guide 

you  towards  the  land  of  Beulah  where 

the    shining   ones    shall   often   visit    you 

this  side  the  river. 

J.  E.  H. 


How  the  poor  stricken  heart  turns,  in 
its  yearnings,  toward  that  unseen  world, 
the  home  of  our  loved  ones  !  If  it  were 
not  for  our  faith  in  the  certainty  of  the 
life  beyond,  how  could  we  bear  such 
blows  as  this?  To  consign  our  lovely 
cherubs  to  the  tomb,  is  a  prostrating 
agony ;  but  when  we  can  raise  our  heads 
in  the  serene  hope  of  a  re-union,  the 
keenest  edge  of  sorrow  is  tempered,  and 
we  can  feel  with  Whittier,  that,  — 

"  Somewhere  and  somehow  we  shall  meet  again." 

The.  conviction,  too,  that   God  is  good^ 
and  doth  not  afflict  willingly,  helps  us 


pS  THE  EMPTY  CRIB. 

steadily  forward,  giving  us  gleams  of  light 
in  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death. 

F.  L. 


To  me,  there  was  always  on  little 
Gcorgie's  face  such  a  sweet  pensive  ex- 
pression that  it  seemed  almost  heavenly ; 
and  I  can  easily  behold  him  now,  by  the 
eye  of  faith,  as  a  sweet  little  angel  in  the 
bosom  of  the  Saviour.  Heaven  will  be 
nearer  to  you  than  ever  before;    and  I 

know  it  will  be  dearer. 

M.S. 


God  never  loves  us  better  than  when 
He  sends  us  bitter  troubles.  He  so 
mingles  mercy-drops  in  our  cup,  that  we 
love  more  and  more  the  hand  that  touches 
us,  even  though  we  bathe  with  sorrowful 
tears  that  hand  to  which  w^e  cling.  The 
river  of  sorrow  is  often  a  new  haftisni  for 


MEMORIAL.  99 

the  ministry,  Ma}^  it  be  so  to  you,  and 
"  as  one  whom  his  mother  comforteth,"  so 
may  God  comfort  you  ! 

M.  E.  G. 


Heart-thanks,  my  dear  friend!  for 
the  sacred  picture,  and  for  the  touching 
story  of  "The  Empty  Crib."  Had  you 
or  had  I  kept  silence,  the  very  stones 
would  have  cried  out.  Perhaps  few  feel 
more  for  you  both  in  this  dark  hour  than 
I,  who  learned  early  the  lesson  of  grief, 
and  so  lately  saw  your  cherub-boy  in  all 
that  mysterious  beauty  which  'seemed  to 
foretell  his  early  recall  to  the  children's 
Paradise.  Truly  it  is  no  common  trial  to 
lose  such  a  boy,  and  to  see  such  a  tie  as 
bound  him  to  his  bereaved  mate,  torn 
asunder  in  a  moment.  Such  a  wound 
cannot  be  bound  up  save  in  the  "  balm  of 
Gilead,"  and  by  a  Saviour's  hand. 


lOO  THE  EMPTY  CRIB. 

The  photograph  you  sent  me   cannot 

do  justice  to  a  soul-beauty  hke  Georgie's. 

As  for  my  verses,   so  unworthy  of  the 

heavenly  child,  they  are  yours ;  do  what 

you  wdll  with   them.      How   truly  w^ere 

"angels  whispering"  to  your  boy  when 

he  spoke  those  dying  words !     Favored 

ones  are  we  who  have  little  ones  training 

in  the  school  of  heaven.     My  first  and 

fairest  entered  that  High  School  a  quarter 

of  a  century  ago.     With  a  loving  kiss  for 

the  "other  half"  of  your  now  glorified 

child,  and  for  his  bereaved  sisters, 

Yours  ever, 

E.  C.  K. 


Has  that  bright  sunny  bo}^  —  whose 
brief  biography  we  have  tried,  with  trem- 
bling hand,  to  write  —  lived  and  died  for 
naught?  Nay:  verily  he  has  not.  The 
value  of  the  lives  of  those  whom  God 


MEMORIAL.  lOI 

sends  into  this  world,  are  not  to  be  al- 
ways measured  by  their  duration.  Our 
precious  child  completed  his  earthly  mis- 
sion before  his  fifth  summer  had  shone 
upon  him ;  yet  he  as  truly  fulfilled  "  the 
work  of  Him  who  sent  him,"  as  if  he  had 
lived  to  threescore  and  ten. 

The  music  of  his  merry  voice,  and  the 
sight  of  that  face  —  which  was  not  only 
to  be  looked  at^  but  to  be  looked  into  — 
will  be  a  joy  for  ever  to  hundreds  who 
knew  him.  His  sudden  departure  stirred 
and  softened  many  a  heart ;  and  the  tears 
shed  over  little  children  — 

"Have  their  own  sweetness  too." 

No  bereavements  are'  commonly  so 
fruitful  in  spiritual  blessings  as  those 
which,  at  once,  empty  our  cribs  and  fill 
our  hearts  with  Jesus.  To  me  and  to 
mine  this  cloud  of  trial  has  been  rain- 


I02  THE  EMPTT  CRIB. 

bowed  with  mercies  and  blessings.  We 
have  learned  the  blessedness  of  tears : 
they  wash  the  eyes,  that  faith  may  see 
farther  into  heaven.  We  have  tasted 
the  sweetness  of  sympathy  in  hours  of 
grief;  and  the  onl}^  pain  I  feel  in  pre- 
senting this  brief  memorial,  is  that  its 
brevity  must  exclude  many  scores  of 
sympathizing  letters,  which  were  quite 
as  precious  to  us  as  any  in  this  vol- 
ume. We  have,  been  admitted  to  the 
sacred  circle  of  the  sorrowing.  Hence- 
forth, while  we  "weep  with  those  who 
weep "  over  children  in  the  grave,  we 
can  also  "  rejoice  with  those  who  rejoice  " 
over  children  in  glory.  Henceforth  this 
world  is  so  much  the  less  dear,  and  Christ 
is  by  just  so  much  the  dearer,  and  heaven 
is  the  nearer. 

Henceforth  Jesus  is  not  only  our  Re- 
deemer, but  the  guardian  and  teacher  of 


MEMORIAL. 


103 


our  cherub-boy.  To  every  one  who  may 
read  this  story  of  our  empty  crib,  I  gladly 
offer  my  testimony,  that  the  everlasting 
gospel,  the  presence  of  the  divine  Com- 
forter, the  all-sufficient  grace  of  God,  the 
"anchor  sure  and  steadfast,"  which  I  have 
so  often  tried  to  commend  to  others,  are 
now  to  my  smitten  soul  infinitely  and  in- 
exfresstbly  frecious^  Welcome  be  the 
baptism,  however  bitter,  that  shall  make 
any  of  us  ministers  of  the  Word,  more 
consecrated  to  the  glorious  work  of 
preaching  CHRIST  and  Him  crucified ! 
I  close  this  love- tribute  to  my  boy,  in 
the  very  room  whence  his  spirit  took  wing 
for  heaven.  The  pillow  in  the  crib  is 
all  smooth  and  undisturbed  to-day.  A 
picture  of  yestis  blessing  little  children^ 
hangs  before  me  on  the  wall.  Every 
shelf  in  yonder  closet  is  filled  with  his 
keepsakes ;    and  on  the  nail  hangs   his 


I04  THE  EMPTY  CRIB. 

little  velvet  cap.  As  I  look  at  all  the 
playthings,  and  at  the  precious  little  slate 
on  which  he  tried  to  mark,  with  feeble 
hand,  on  his  dying  day,  I  cannot  believe 
that  he  is  dead.  He  must  be  somewhere 
in  my  dwelling  yet. 

*'  I  walk  yon  parlor-floor, 

And  through  the  open  door, 
I  hear  a  footfall  on  the  chamber-stair; 

I'm  stepping  towards  the  hall 

To  give  the  boy  a  call, 
And  then  bethink  me  that  he  is  not  there. 

*'I  know  his  face  is  hid 

Under  the  coffin-lid; 
Closed  are  his  eyes ;  cold  is  his  forehead  fair. 

My  hand  that  marble  felt; 

O'er  it  in  prayer  I  knelt; 
Yet  my  heart  whispers  that  he  is  not  there. 

'        "Not  there!     Where  then  is  he? 

The  form  I  used  to  see 
Was  but  the  raiment  that  he  once  did  wear. 

The  grave  that  now  doth  press 

Upon  that  cast-off  dress, 
Is  but  his  wardrobe  locked  :  he  is  not  there. 


MEMORIAL,  105 

'**  He  lives  !  in  all  the  past 

He  lives;  nor  to  the  last, 
Of  seeing  him  again,  will  I  despair. 

In  dreams  I  see  him  now; 

And  on  his  angel-brow, 
Behold  it  written,  —  "  Thoic  shalt  meet  me  there  !  " 


A  CHILD   IN  THE  MIDST.* 


\T  7HEN  Christ  wished  to  rebuke  the 
selfish  ambition  of  his  disciples, 
he  took  a  little  child  and  "  set  him  in  the 
midst  of  them."  From  that  child  they 
were  taught  a  lesson  of  unselfishness  and 
humility. 

So  our  heavenly  Father  now  sets  little 
children  in  our  houses  to  be  otcr  teachers, 
as  well  as  to  be  taught  themselves.  No 
home  is  complete  without  child-music  to 
enliven  it,  and  little  faces  to  light  up  its 


*  This  is  from  the  discourse  preached  on  the  day 
of  Georgie's  baptism  in  the  Lafayette-Avenue 
Church. 


I08  THE  EMPTT  CRIB. 

apartments.  Never  was  there  a  cottage 
so  humble,  or  so  meagre,  but  that  it 
could  be  made  cheerful,  by  the  crow  and 
chirrup  of  infant  gladness.  And  we 
have  seen  a  magnificent  mansion  that, 
with  all  its  rosewood  and  velvet,  its 
^pictures  and  marbles,  was  yet  sadly 
emfty;  for  no  crib  stood  in  its  sumptu- 
ous chambers,  and  na  child- voice  rang 
through  its  lofty  halls.  No  house  is  a 
"furnished  house,"  until  God,  in  his 
loving  kindness,  setteth  a  little  child  in 
the  midst  of  it. 

Bear  in  mind  that  the  little  immortal  is 
placed  there  to  teach  us,  their  parents,  as 
well  as  to  be  trained  themselves.  What 
lessons  they  impart  to  us,  what  inspira- 
tions, what  exhibition  of  our  own  faults, 
what  spiritual  discipline  !  They  are  not 
sinless  cherubs,  or  they  would  not  teach 
us  so  much :  we  are  not  sinless  Adams 


A    CHILD   IN   THE  MIDST.         lOQ 

and  Eves,  or  else  we  should  not  so  much 
need  to  be  taught. 

One  of  the  first  lessons  they  give  us  is 
in  PATIENCE,  —  a  virtue  that  some  of  us 
are  slow  in  acquiring.  But  who  can 
teach  it  better  than  a  helpless,  dependent, 
and  often  wayward  and  exacting  child? 
Through  long,  wakeful  nights,  the  pee- 
vish cry  of  the  little  sufferer  means, 
^^ Bear  with  me,  mother!  I  know  no 
better.  I  can't  help  it.  I  can't  be  any 
lighter  to  carry,  or  any  quieter,  undei 
the  dartings  of  pain's  sharp  needles. 
You  must  bear  with  me."  Every  year  is 
a  year  of  added  instruction.  Is  the 
youngster  slow  and  dull  over  his  books? 
Then  be  patient.  If  it  is  hard  to  get  the 
truth  in,  it  will  be  harder  to  get  it  out. 
"Why  do  you  tell  that  child  the  same 
thing  a  dozen  times?"  said  the  father  of 
John  Wesley  to  his  persevering  mother. 


no  THE  EMPTY  CRIB, 

**Because,"  replied  the  shrewd  woman, 
"all  the  other  eleven  times  will  go  for 
nothing  unless  I  succeed  at  the  twelfth." 
We  do  not  know  whether  it  requires  more 
patience  to  get  on  with  mercurial,  quick- 
tempered children,  or  with  slow-witted 
ones.  Both  require  forbearance  and  care- 
ful handling.  Both  can  drill  us  into  pa- 
tience. How  patient  God  is  with  oitr 
wilful  disobedience  and  ingratitude  and 
stubbornness !  Should  not  we  be  long- 
suffering  toward  the  little  trespassers 
against  parental  law? 

Children  are  more  than  teachers  of 
patience  and  forbearance.  They  are 
household  mirrors  to  reflect  our  own 
faults,  —  sometimes,  too,  our  own  graces. 
If  we  wish  to  see  how  ridiculous  and 
hateful  are  our  ebullitions  of  sudden  pas- 
sion, we  have  but  to  look  at  the  anger- 
storms  of  our  little  imitators  at  our  own 


A    CHILD    IN   THE  MIDST.         ill 

firesides.  That  sullen  scowl  was  caught 
probably  from  our  brows.  That  ill- 
natured  snarl  was  the  echo  of  our  own. 
That  revengeful  blow  struck  at  a  brother 
may  be  but-  the  rehearsal  of  the  last 
angry  slap  we  gave  the  lad,  more  in 
revenge  than  in  the  love  of  correction. 

Would  you  see  your  own  faults  ?  Look 
at  your  children.  They  are  the  plates  on 
which  father  and  mother  are  photo- 
graphed. Sometimes  the  "  family  like- 
ness" is  frightful.  Would  you  see  how 
your  own  desecration  of  the  sabbath 
looks?  Look  at  your  eldest  son,  lounging 
down,  late  and  ill-humored,  to  his  tardy 
meal  on  a  Sunday  morning,  more  keen 
for  your  "Sunday  Herald"  than  for  a 
preparation  for  the  house  of  God.  He  is 
only  photographing  his  father.  Would 
you  know  how  melodious  is  an  oath? 
Listen  to  the  young  practitioner  of  your 


112  THE  EMPTY  CRIB, 

own  profanity.  When  you  lose  temper 
at  his  spendthrift  habits,  remember  who 
it  was  that  taught  him  to  prefer  a  fine  coat 
to  a  fine  character.  Are  your  daughters 
extravagant?  They  but  begin  just  where 
their  fashion-worshipping  mother  leaves 
off;  and  they  go  commonl}-  as  much  be- 
yond her,  as  she  went  beyond  Christian 
prudence  and  economy.  Do  you  get  pro- 
voked at  their  tattle?  Perhaps  they 
canght  a  relish  of  scandal  at  their 
parents'  table ;  perhaps  they  learned  to 
coin  falsehoods  from  your  hypocrisy 
toward  visitors,  or  from  false  messages 
sent  through  servants  to  the  door.  Child- 
ish deceit  is  often  the  mirror's  reflection 
of  parental  cunning  and  dissimulation. 
Many  a  worldly-minded  mother  has  seen, 
in  the  mocking  impenitence  of  a  daughter, 
the  reflex  of  her  own  "  lust  of  the  eye 
and  the  pride  of  life."    Many  a  David  has 


A    CHILD    IN   THE  MIDST.         113 

wept  over  his  sensual,  licentious  Absalom, 
—  and  tears  all  the  more  bitter  because 
he  saw  his  own  sins  stereotyped  in  his 
offspring. 

Believe  it,  O  parents !  that  when  God 
sets  a  child  in  the  midst  of  us,  he  puts  a 
looking-glass  there  to  see  ourselves  in. 
Our  vices  are  often  made  to  glare  back 
hideous  from  the  countenance  and  con- 
duct of  those  who  sin  our  sins  over  again, 
and  "  break  out "  with  our  own  moral  in- 
fections !  I  once  saw  a  mother  weeping 
over  the  coffin  of  an  infant  who  had  died 
from  a  disorder  communicated  by  herself: 
It  was  to  me  a  t3^pe  and  a  parable.  When, 
on  the  other  hand,  I  have  seen  a  godly- 
minded  pair,  looking  with  grateful  joy  on 
the  child  of  their  love,  as  he  came  home 
with  his  prize  from  school,  or  as  he  stood 
up  before  the  church  to  confess  Jesus 
Christ,  in  the  fresh  beauty  of  a  youthful 
8 


114  THE  EMPTY  CRIB. 

consecration,  then  I  saw  the  mirror  of 
childhood  giving  back  the  beautiful  re- 
flection of  parental  piety  and  grace.  If 
we  are  faithful  to  our  children's  souls ; 
if  we  more  ardently  desire  to  see  them  rich 
toward  God  than  rich  in  gold  or  bank- 
stocks  ;  if  we  live  out  so  lovely  and  con 
sistent  a  religion,  that  they  may  long  to 
reflect  it  in  their  own  lives ;  if  we  con- 
secrate our  children  to  God,  by  consecrat- 
ing ourselves,  —  then  we  may  thoroughly 
expect  to  rejoice  in  the  early  conversion 
of  our  ofl^spring  to  Jesus,  and  in  an  after- 
career  of  usefulness  and  honor.  And 
when  we  reach  heaven  at  last,  thcre^ 
too,  it  will  be  seen  that  Jesus  Christ  "sets 
our  child  in  the  midst"  of  us. 


^> 


GOD'S  BITTER  CUPS  FOR  SICK  SOULS. 


/^^OD  is  the  wisest  and  best  of  physi- 
^-^  cians.  He  understands  precisely 
the  soul's  diseases.  He  never  selects  the 
"  wrong  bottle,"  and  never  gives  one  drop 
too  much  of  corrective  medicine.  My 
brother,  can  you  not  trust  your  heavenly 
Father?  Do  you  fear  that  he  will  give 
you  poison  in  His  cup  of  chastisement? 
Do  you  try  to  avoid  the  draught  which  He 
has  prepared,  and  with  a  wry  face  push 
it  from  you  ?  "  The  cup  which  your  Fa- 
ther gives  you,  shall  3^ou  not  drink  it?" 

God   often  comes  to  one  of  his  own 
children,  and  finds  him  in  sore  need  of 


Il6  THE  EMPTT  CRIB. 

spiritual  medication.  He  has  become 
sick  from  indulged  sin,  and  eating  of  for- 
bidden fruit ;  or  else  he  is  utterly  debili- 
tated in  all  his  powers  and  affections. 
His  pulse  beats  low;  his  graces  are 
weak.  Perhaps  this  very  Christian  used 
to  pray  for  more  grace,  for  more  strength 
or  humility  or  patience  or  assurance  of 
hope.  God  takes  him  at  his  own  w^ord. 
The  Christian  asks  to  be  made  purer, 
better,  stronger,  and  more  Christ-like. 
And  the  very  first  thing  that  his  heavenly- 
Father  does  is  to  mingle  for  him  a  cup 
of  bitter  disappointments  or  afflictions. 
Instead  of  relieving  him,  God  seems  to 
be  smiting  him.  Instead  of  increasing 
his  joys  and  hopes,  he  seems  to  be  blight- 
ing them  like  Jonah's  gourd. 

Perhaps  this  is  the  way,  my  reader, 
that  God  is  treating  you.  A  bitter  cup 
of  trial  has  been  commended  to  your  lips. 


GOD'S  BITTER    CUPS.  1 17 

B\it  it  is  your  leather's  cup  :  drink  it. 
What  does  faith  in  God  7iiean  but  just  this 
very  thing, — that  you  will  trust  him  though 
he  slay?  What  is  faith  but  the  firm  and 
delightful  belief  that  when  God  goes  into 
the  laboratory  of  his  secret  purposes,  and 
mingles  for  you  a  bitter  draught,  he 
knows  just  what  he  is  doing,  and  also 
just  what  your  soul's  disease  requireth  ? 
It  may  be  bitter,  but  the  disease  is 
worse. 

I  call  3^ou  to  witness  that  those  con- 
fiding souls  who  have  taken  God's  medi- 
cines of  trial  in  the  right  spirit  have  found 
their  prayers  answered  in  their  afflictions. 
Behold  !  the  very  graces  they  prayed  for 
—  the  patience,  the  meekness,  the  heav- 
enly-mindedness  —  were  in  that  cup, 
that  bitter  cup  !  If  the  cup  had  not  been 
drank,  the  sweet  coveted  blessings  would 
have  all  been  lost.     If  God  had  not  dealt 


Il8  THE  EMPTY  CRIB. 

with  them  precisely  as  he  did,  the  spirit- 
ual disease  would  have  raged  on,  and  the 
soul  have  been  sick  unto  death.  Do  not 
then  push  away  that  tear-draught  of  sor- 
row which  your  merciful  Father  is  press- 
ing to  your  trembling  lips.  The  cup  is 
encircled  with  this  precious  inscription  : 
''  Whom  I  love  I  chasten;  all  things 
work  together  for  good  to  them  that  love 
?;2^."     Will  you  refuse  to  drink  it? 

Oh !  what  blessings  are  afflictions  to 
those  who  can  bless  God  for  afflictions  ! 
"Oh  !  "  said  a  bright-hearted  young  man, 
who  was  tortured  with  a  fatal  and  painful 
bodily  disease,  "when  I  have  the  most 
pain  in  my  body,  I  have  the  most  comfort 
in  my  soul.  When  Christ  suffered,  he 
had  none  but  enemies  about  him,  and 
they  gave  him  gall  and  vinegar  to  drink. 
When  I  thirst,  I  have  beside  me  the  Friend 
that  sticketh  closer  than  a  brother.     The 


GOD'S  BITTER    CUPS.  119 

cup  that  He  gives  me,  shall  I  not  drink  it? 
I  do  not  doubt  but  that  there  is  love  in  the 
bottom  of  the  cup,  though  it  is  bitter  in 
the  mouth." 

There  was  a  fine  Christian  philosophy 
in  this  last  thought  of  the  suffering  youth, 
—  that  at  the  bottom  of  the  cup  lay  the 
precious  blessing.  He  must,  therefore, 
drink  the  whole  bitter  draught,  in  order  to 
reach  it.  Depend  upon  it,  brethren,  that 
many  of  the  purest  and  grandest  displays 
of  Christian  grace  can  only  be  reached 
under  a  regimen  of  severe  trial.  Faith's 
anchor  is  never  so  fully  tested  as  in  a 
hurricane.  Patience  never  shines  so  lus- 
trous as  in  a  midnight  of  black  adversity. 
Courage  never  shows  so  grandly  as  when 
death  on  his  "pale  horse"  is  careering 
down  upon  us  over  a  battle-field  strewn 
with  defeat  and  disaster. 

There  is  a  patience  of  hope,  a  joy  un- 


I20  THE  EMPTY  CRIB, 

der  tribulation,  and  a  sense  of  the  imme- 
diate support  of  Jesus  that  never  can  be 
reached  by  us  when  we  are  in  a  condition 
of  ease  and  outward  prosperity.  These 
rich  graces  lie  in  the  boUom  of  trial's  bit- 
ter cup.  And  God  esteems  these  graces 
of  such  priceless  value  that  he  mingles 
for  us  just  such  cups  of  suffering,  in  order 
to  bring  out  the  graces  in  their  beauty 
and  power.  God  so  esteemed  faith  in 
Abraham  that  he  proved  it  with  a  knife 
flashing  over  the  throat  of  his  darling  son. 
He  so  esteemed  patience  in  Job  that  he 
stripped  him  of  all  his  wealth,  and  left 
him  the  richest  soul  on  all  the  earth. 
What  a  cup  of  compounded  trials  did  he 
mingle  for  the  heroic  apostle !  Yet  that 
apostle  gratefully  acknowledges  that  "  the 
trial  of  his  faith,  being  much  more  pre- 
cious than  of  silver  and  gold,  though  it  be 
tried  in  the    fire,   would  be  found   unto 


(rOD'S  BITTER    CUPS.  I2I 

praise  and  honor  and  glory  at  the  appear- 
ing of  Jesus  Christ." 

Be  not  surprised,  my  friend,  when  God 
mixes  for  you  a  bitter  cup.  He  sees  that 
you  need  it.  Disappointment  and  be- 
reavement do  not  put  sugar  into  their 
cups :  they  are  meant  to  be  bitter.  So 
are  the  best  tonic  medicines  bitter ;  but 
they  quicken  appetite,  and  invigorate  the 
system.  Many  a  cup  of  wormwood  has 
braced  a  Christian's  graces.  Many  a 
sore  loss  has  proved  an  everlasting  gain. 
Bereavements  are  often  full-brimming 
cups  of  tears  ;  but  they  have  been  a  medi- 
cine to  the  soul  more  healing  than  the 
sweetest  "  balm  "  on  Gilead.  God  never 
mingles  a  cup  of  trial  for  one  of  his  chil- 
dren without  a  merciful  purpose.  He 
either  means  to  cure  a  soul's  sicknesses, 
or  to  save  it  from  eternal  death.  The 
cup  which  our  Father  gives  us,  shall  we 
not  drink  it? 


122  THE  EMPTY  CRIB. 

Let  US  all  be  careful  how  we  choose  a 
cup  for  ourselves,  and  insist  on  having  it. 
Children  choose  confectionery  always 
sooner  than  medicine :  one  may  bring 
sickness,  the  other  health.  God  some- 
times lets  us  have  our  own  selfish  way. 
He  left  rebellious  Israel  to  their  own  way 
when  they  grew  tired  of  Heaven-sent 
manna,  and  lusted  for  the  quails.  He 
sent  them  the  food  they  asked  for,  and, 
while  the  "flesh  was  yet  between  their 
teeth,"  they  were  smitten  with  a  terrible 
plague. 

So  has  many  a  Christian  lusted  for 
what  has  proved  a  plague  to  his  soul.  I 
have  known  professed  Christians  to  choose 
for  themselves  a  cup  of  great  worldly 
prosperity;  and  //  made  them  drunk! 
There  was  Satan's  sorcery  in  the  cup. 
Their  heads  grew  dizzy,  and  they  were 
lifted  up  with  pride.     They  grew  greedy 


GOD'S   BITTER    CUPS.  1 23 

for  lucre,  fond  of  fashionable  follies,  self- 
indulgent,  and  neglectful  of  their  religious 
duties.  Prosperity  spoiled  them.  It  has 
ruined  thousands  in  our  churches.  Ah  ! 
had  all  these  foreseen  what  was  in  that 
cup  of  worldly  prosperity,  they  might 
well  have  cried  out,  "  O  Father !  I  pray 
thee,  let  this  cuf  pass  from  me  ! " 


OUR  BABY. 


'T^O-DAY  we  cut  the  fragrant  sod 

-^       With  trembling  hands  asunder ; 
And  lay  this  well-beloved  of  God, 

Our  dear  dead  baby,  under. 
Oh  hearts  that  ache,  and  ache  afresh ! 

Oh  tears  too  blindly  raining  ! 
Our  hearts  are  weak,  yet,  being  flesh, 

Too  strong  for  our  restraining. 


Sleep,  darling,  sleep !  cold  rains  shall  steep 

Thy  little  turf-made  dwelling ; 
Thou  wilt  not  know,  so  f^ir  below. 

What  winds  or  storms  are  swelling. 
The  birds  shall  sing  in  the  warm  spring, 

And  flowers  bloom  about  thee  ; 
Thou  wilt  not  heed  them,  love,  but  oh, 

The  loneliness  without  thee  ! 


OUR  BABT.  125 

Father,  we  will  be  comforted  ! 

Thou  wast  the  gracious  Giver : 
We  yield  her  up,  not  dead,  not  dead, 

To  dwell  with  thee  for  ever. 
Take  thou  our  child,  —  ours  for  a  day^ 

Thine  while  the  ages  blossom. 
This  little  shining  head  we  lay 

In  the  Redeemer's  bosom  ! 


QUIETNESS  BEFORE   GOD. 


QUIETNESS  before  God,  especiall}/ 
in  dark  hours  of  trial,  is  one  of  the 
most  rare  and  difficult  of  graces.  Yet 
when  it  is  gained,  it  proves  one  of 
the  most  wholesome  in  its  influence. 
None  pleases  God  more ;  none  renders 
religion  more  beautiful  in  the  eyes  of 
men. 

Yet  how  we  dread  the  hour  of  trial ! 
How  fervently  we  beg  that  "  this  cup  may 
pass  from  me."  No  one  loves  to  be  af- 
flicted. No  one  loves  to  have  his  plans 
defeated,  or  his  hopes  dashed;  to  be 
stripped  of   his  property  or   to   be   cast 


QUIETNESS   BEFORE    GOD.        127 

down  from  his  perch  of  ambition ;  or  to 
be  bereaved  of  his  household  treasures. 

We  shudder  at  the  sight  of  that  surgi- 
cal knife  which  God  employs  upon  us. 
Our  self-love  rebels  against  the  excrucia- 
ting "operation."  But  when  God  —  who 
wounds  in  order  to  heal  —  is  engaged  in 
His  providential  process  of  amputating 
a  darling  lust  or  cutting  out  an  ulcer  of 
besetting  sin,  our  "strength  is  to  sit  stillJ'^ 
"Keep  still,  my  friend  ;  be  quiet,"  says  the 
army-surgeon  to  the  writhing  soldier  un- 
der his  keen  knife.  Restlessness  only 
endangers  a  false  cut  of  the  knife  and 
only  aggravates  the  wound.  So,  when 
God  is  operating  on  the  heart  by  sharp 
trials,  the  first  duty  of  his  child  is  perfect, 
submissive,  unquestioning  quietness. 

"  Thy  will  be  done  on  earth  as  it  is  in 
heaven,"  is  the  very  core  and  essence  of 
our   model    prayer.      When    a    sabbath- 


128  THE  EMPTT  CRIB, 

school  teacher  once  asked  of  his  class, 
^"^ How  do  the  angels  in  heaven  do  God's 
will?"  one  child  answered,  "Immediate- 
ly." Another  said,  "Diligently."  A  third 
answered,  "With  all  the  heart."  A  fourth 
said,  "Always."  A  fifth  said,  "They  dc 
it  altogether."  After  a  pause,  a  little 
girl  spoke  up  and  said,  "  Sir,  they  do  it 
without  asking  any  questions.^''  Here  was 
a  perfect  definition  of  quietness  before' 
God.  It  is  a  rare  grace,  because  it  is  so 
difficult  to  exercise.  A  score  of  Chris- 
tians can  pray  and  give  and  work  for 
God,  where  one  can  be  found  ready  to  sit 
down  and  suffer.  To  go  into  battle,  with 
the  bugles  sounding  and  the  very  blood 
leaping  to  the  fingers'  ends  under  the  im- 
petuous charge,  is  full  of  thrilling  exhil- 
aration. But  to  be  picked  up  bloody  and 
mangled,  and  borne  back  among  pitying 
comrades  to  the  rear ;    to  be  laid  down 


QUIETNESS  BEFORE    GOD.       129 

helpless  in  the  hospital,  and  await  your 
slow  turn  for  the  surgeon's  probe ;  to  be 
transferred  from  his  knife  (with  one  limb 
the  less)  into  the  nurses'  silent  "  ward  "  of 
sufferers,  —  to  do  and  bear  all  this,  calls 
out  the  loftiest  qualities  of  true  heroism. 
The  battle-field  costs  less  than  the  hospi- 
tal. So,  in  the  spiritual  conflict,  God  puts 
especial  honor  on  the  grace  of  passive 
submission.  He  commends  the  "strength 
to  sit  still."  He  approves  that  patient 
quietness  which  "behaves  itself  like  a 
child  that  is  weaned  of  his  mother."  And 
the  loftiest  saints  in  the  Bible  are  those 
who  have  become  the  most  "perfect 
through   suffering." 

Quietness  under  God's  discipline  is 
simply  the  willingness  to  let  God  have 
His  own  way.  It  is  ready  to  go  where 
He  sends  us,  to  bear  what  He  lays  upon 
us,  to  sit  still  just  where  He  places  us. 
9 


130  THE  EMPTY  CRIB. 

Why  should  we  try  to  get  away  from  His 
blessed  discipline?  When  you  would  fill 
a  vessel  with  water  from  a  hydrant  or  a 
rain-spout,  you  do  not  remove  the  vessel 
while  the  stream  is  pouring  in.  It  is  filled 
by  sitting  still.  And  if  God's  storms  are 
filling  your  heart  with  heaven-descended 
graces,  why  should  you  seek  to  move 
away  from  beneath  its  blessed  out-pour? 
If  God  is  refining  your  heart,  why  seek 
to  be  taken  out  of  the  furnace? 

"  Pain's  furnace-heat  within  me  quivers, 

God's  breath  upon  the  flames  doth  blow, 
And  all  my  heart  in  anguish  shivers, 

And  trembles  at  the  fiery  glow; 
But  yet  I  whisper,  '■As  God  xvill ! ' 
And  in  His  hottest  fire  sit  still." 

We  have  seldom  met  with  a  finer  illus- 
tration of  this  grace  of  quietness  than  was 
presented  by  an  aged  lady,  who,  after  a 
busy  life  of  doing  good,  was   at  length 


QUIETNESS  BEFORE    GOD.       131 

laid  upon  her  bed,  pain-worn  and  help- 
less. A  good  minister  went  to  see  her, 
and  asked  if,  after  her  active  habits,  she 
did  not  find  her  confinement  hard  to  bear. 
"No,  sir,"  said  she  :  "not  at  all.  When  1 
was  well,  I  used  to  hear  the  Lord  say 
day  by  day,  *Betty,  go  here;  Betty,  go 
there  ;  Betty,  do  this,  and  do  that ;'  and  I 
used  to  do  it  as  well  as  I  could.  But  now 
I  hear  him  say,  'Betty,  lie  still,  and 
cough.' "  Which  of  these  two  acts  of 
obedience  was  the  most  difficult  to  per- 
form, we  leave  our  readers  to  testify,  from 
their  own  experience. 


IS  IT  WELL  WITH  THE   CHILD? 


"And  she  answered,  It  is  well."  —  2  Kings  iv.  26. 

\7'ES  :  all  is  well,  though  from  thy  longing 
JL  gaze, 

The  darling  of  thy  heart  hath  passed  away ! 
The  anxious  eye  of  fond  maternal  love 
No  more  shall  rest  upon  his  cherub-face  ; 
No  more  the  joyous  laugh,  the  prattling  tones 
Of  infant  mirth,  shall  greet  thy  listening  ear. 
The  little  lips,  so  often  prest  to  thine, 
No  more  in  beaming  loveliness  shall  smile  , 
And  from  the    empty   ^rib   there    comes    no 
sound. 


The  above  lines  —  never  before  published — were 
written  by  a  beloved  relative  of  our  child,  and  have 
an  appropriateness  that  calls  for  their  insertion. 


IS  IT  WELL   WITH  THE  CHILD?  133 

No  gentle  breathing  from  the  slumbering  one, 
To  tell  thy  child  is  there. 

Oh,  what  a  sense 
Of  anguished  loneliness  comes  o'er  the  heart 
As  oft  thine  eyes  upon  the  garments  fall, 
Wrought  with  such  pride  for  him  ! 

Can  it  be  well, 
That  ne'er  again  the  absent  father's  arms 
Shall  clasp  the  beauteous  boy ;    that  fancy's 

eye 
Shall  trace  no  more  upon  his  smiling  face, 
The  faint  resemblance  of  the  cherished  dead ; 
That   the   fair   picture    hope's   bright   pencil 

drew. 
In  richest  coloring,  is  washed  out  in  tears? 
Yes  :  all  is  well!     Oh,  lift  thine  eyes  above  1 
What  can  a  mother's  fondest  wishes  ask, 
For  her  lost  darling,  like  the  bliss  of  heaven? 

And  thou  must  go  to  him !     May  the  same 

robe 
That   made    him    spotless    in    the    sight   of 

Heaven,  — 
The  costly  robe  a  dying  Saviour  wrought,  — 
Be  cast  around  thee  too  !    And  when  the  ties 


134 


THE  EMPTY  CRIB. 


That  bind  ye  now  to  earth  are  torn  and  rent, 

May  every  little  voice  that  mingled  here 

In    sweet    communion   'round    your    happy 

hearth, 
Unite  to  swell  the  ceaseless  choir  of  heaven ! 

Zanesville,  August,  1S41.  S.  W.  C. 


THE    CONVERSION   OF   CHILDREN. 


OOME  worthy  Christians  are  strangely 
sceptical  in  regard  to  the  conversion 
of  children  ;  they  admit  the  impressibility 
of  childhood ;  they  admit  that  early  piety 
is  beautiful ;  they  read  in  their  own  Bible 
the  promise,  "those  that  seek  me  early 
shall  find  me ;  "  and  they  read,  too,  of 
such  examples  of  3^outhful  religion  as 
Samuel  and  King  Josiah  and  the  well- 
taught  Timothy.  But  about  their  own 
children's  conversion  they  have  grave 
doubts  and  misgivings. 

Just  as  well  might  they  doubt  the  abil- 


136 


THE  EMPTY  CRIB. 


ity  of  a  child  of  ten  years  of  age  to  love 
its  mother,  or  to  obey  the  commands  of 
its  father.  A  child  trusts  its  parents  im- 
plicitly. How  does  your  little  girl  know 
that  it  is  not  rank  poison  that  you  are  giv- 
ing her  when  she  is  sick?  She  cannot 
analyze  the  medicine ;  yet  she  swallows 
it  down  from  simple  faith  in  your  say-so 
that  it  is  "  good  for  her." 

If  a  child  can  love  a  parent  and  trust 
a  parent  and  obey  a  parent,  it  can  love 
and  trust  and  obey  God.  These  three 
mental  acts  are  the  very  essence  of  reli- 
gion. Bear  in  mind,  too,  that  in  every 
thought  and  act  toward  God  the  child 
may  have  the  supernatural  aid  of  the  Holy 
Spirit.  Also  bear  in  mind  that  the  cen- 
tre of  Christianity  is  Christ.  Now,  an 
ordinary  child  of  ten  or  twelve  years  can 
appreciate  Christ's  history,  his  beautiful 
deeds  of  power  and  mercy,  the  sweetness 


CONVERSION  OF  CHILDREN.     1 37 

of  his  promises,  and  his  death  of  self-sac- 
rifice, just  as  well  as  a  man  of  threescore. 
The  mysteries  of  Christ's  incarnation  I 
cannot  understand  any  better  than  a 
child ;  nor  need  either  of  us  do  it.  A 
child  can  love  Jesus  with  all  the  ingenu- 
ous ardor  of  its  young  heart.  Is  not  this 
the  touchstone  of  vital  Christianity? 

Just  as  soon  as  your  son  and  daughter 
are  old  enough  to  understand  right  from 
wrong,  they  are  old  enough  to  do  right 
or  wrong.  Doing  right  is  religion ;  do- 
ing wrong  is  sin.  Sorrow  for  wrong- 
doing is  contrition.  Ceasing  to  do  wrong, 
from  right  motive,  is  repentance.  Asking 
Christ  to  forgive  wrong  is  an  act  of  faith. 
Did  you  never  know  a  child  to  be  capable 
of  these  exercises? 

Why  argue  the  possibility  of  childish 
piety,  when  innumerable  cases  of  sincere, 
intelligent,  well-founded  godliness  have 


138  THE   EMPTY  CRIB. 

been  exhibited  by  the  very  young?  One 
of  the  most  beautiful  examples  of  almost 
angelic  piety  I  ever  witnessed  was  in  a 
sweet  girl,  who  w^as  transplanted  to 
heaven  at  the  age  of  nine  years.  Her 
talk  with  me  in  my  boyhood  impressed 
me  more  than  my  minister's  sermons. 
When  a  little  sick  lad  was  asked  by  his 
pastor,  ''Would  you  like  to  get  better?" 
he  answered,  "I  would  like  the  will  of" 
God." — "  If  you  get  better,  would  you  live 
just  as  you  did  before?"  —  "Yes  ;  if  God 
did  not  give  me  his  grace ^  I  certainly 
would."  Could  an  adult  mind  have  any 
better  conception  of  dependence  upon 
God  than  this? 

It  may  be  said  that  "  children's  minds 
are  volatile  and  chanfjeable."  Are  jrrown 
people  never  changeable?  Do  men  and 
women  of  forty  years  never  become  back- 
sliders?    I  had  rather  risk  the  volatility 


CONVERSION  OF  CHILDREN     139 

of  childhood,  than  the  temptations  to  self- 
seeking  sharpness  and  worldliness  that 
beset  middle  life.  If  childhood  is  credu- 
lous, manhood  and  old  age  are  too  scep- 
tical. Better  a  heart  that  believes  too 
much  and  too  easily,  than  one  that  is  too 
slow  to  believe  and  to  move  at  all.  Oh  ! 
be  assured,  ye  parents  and  teachers,  that 
there  is  no  such  soil  in  the  world  for 
religious  truth  and  converting  grace  as 
the  heart  of  a  frank,  susceptible,  trustful 
child.  From  that  soil  grows  the  loftiest 
and  sturdiest  piety  of  after  years. 

The  most  important  ten  years  of  human 
life  are  from  five  to  fifteen  3'ears  of  age. 
The  vast  majority  of  those  who  pass 
twenty  irreligious  are  never  converted  at 
all.  Dr.  Spencer  tell  us  that,  out  of  235 
hopeful  converts  in  his  church,  138  were 
under  twenty  years  of  age,  and  only /our 
had  passed  their  fiftieth  year !     I    have 


140 


THE  EMPTT  CRIB. 


been  permitted,  during  my  ministry,  to 
receive  over  one  thousand  persons  into 
the  church,  on  confession  of  their  faith  ; 
and  not  one  dozen  of  these  had  outgrown 
their  fiftieth  year.  I  did,  indeed,  once 
baptize  a  veteran  of  eighty-five ;  but  the 
case  was  so  remarkable  that  it  excited 
the  talk  and  wonder  of  the  town.  Such 
late  repentances  are  too  much  like  what 
the  blunt  dying  soldier  called  "flinging 
the  fag-end  of  one's  life  into  the  face  of 
the  Almighty." 

In  judging  of  the  genuineness  of  chil- 
dren's conversions,  we  must  remember 
that  they  are  but  children.  Don't  expect 
a  converted  boy  to  be  a  pious  man ;  he 
is  yet  only  a  boy.  Like  a  boy,  he 
loves  to  play,  and  ought  to  play.  But 
if  he  is  willing  to  leave  his  play  to 
attend  a  prayer -meeting,  why  is  not 
that    as    good    a    proof    of    his     heart- 


CONVERSION  OF  CHILDREN. 


141 


devotion,  as  for  a  man  to  quit  his  work 
for  the  same  purpose?  The  little  girl 
who  denies  herself  a  doll  or  a  dress,  in 
order  to  give  the  money  to  a  missionary- 
box,  practises  a  Christian  benevolence 
as  pure  as  our  noble  merchant  princes, 
when  they  bestow  their  thousands  in 
munificent  charity.  A  child  that  con- 
trols its  temper,  because  God  forbids 
anger,  does  as  saintly  a  thing  as  Stephen 
did  when  he  forgave  his  persecutors. 
Hypocrisy  is  one  of  the  most  heinous 
and  hateful  of  sins  :  is  there  more  of  it 
under  twenty  years  of  age  than  over?  I 
trow  not.  In  estimating  the  evidence  of 
childish  religion,  we  must  look  for  chil- 
dren's graces,  and  make  allowance,  too, 
for  childhood's  weaknesses.  God's  grace 
does  not  make  a  boy  a  man :  it  simply 
makes  him  a  better  boy. 

At  what  age  should  a  child  be  admitted 


142 


THE  EMPTT  CRIB. 


to  the  church?  To  this  question  we 
would  answer,  that  every  one  should  be 
admitted  to  Christ's  church  as  soon  as 
they  give  good  evidence  of  a  Christian 
conduct.  The  church  is  for  all  who  love 
the  Lord  Jesus,  and  who  seek  to  serve 
him.  The  Bible  does  not  make  age  a 
condition  of  salvation.  Shall  a  truly  con- 
verted child  be  kept  away  from  Christ's 
table  until  it  has  got  over  being  a  child? 
And  what  is  the  use  of  having  a  fold,  "if 
the  lambs  are  all  to  be  kept  out  until  they 
can  stand  the  weather"? 

In  every  age  of  life,  piety  is  possible, 
is  attractive,  is  indispensable  to  salvation. 
We  rejoice  to  see  the  man  of  middle  life, 
or  the  mother  amid  her  cares,  yielding  to 
Jesus  a  heart  that  has  long  been  enslaved 
by  worldliness,  or  haunted  by  scepticisms. 
But  still  more  do  we  rejoice  to  see  the 
divine    Redeemer    take    his   place   in  a 


CONVERSION  OF  CHILDREN.     143 

young  hearty  —  a  heart,  like  that  new  tomb 
of  Joseph  of  Arimathea,  which  received 
Christ's  wounded  body,  —  a  place  "in 
which  110  other  one  has  ever  yet  been 
laid:' 


CHILDREN   IN   HEAVEN. 


[From  Rev.  E.  H.  Bickersteth's  *'  Yesterday,  To- 
day, and  For  Ever."] 

A  BABE  in  glory  is  a  babe  for  ever. 
Perfect    as    spirits,    and    able    to    pour 
forth 
Their  glad  hearts  in  the  tongues  that  angels 

use, 
These  nurslings,  gathered  in  God's  nursery, 
For  ever  grow  in  loveliness  and  love,  — 
Growth  is  the  law  of  all  intelligence,  — 
Yet  cannot  pass  the  limit  which  defines 
Their  being.      They  have  never  fought  the 

fight, 
Nor  borne  the  heat  and  burden  of  the  day, 
Nor  staggered  underneath  the  weary  cross. 


CHILDREN  IN  HEAVEN.  1 45 

.     .     ,     Infancy 
Is   one   thing,    manhood    one.      And   babes, 

though  part 
Of  the  true  archetypal  house  of  God 
Built  on  the  heavenly  Zion,  are  not  now, 
Nor   will    be    ever,    massive    rocks,    rough- 
hewn, 
Or  ponderous  corner-stones,  or  fluted  shafts 
Of  columns,  or  far-shadowing  pinnacles  ; 
But  rather  as  the  delicate  lily-work. 
By  Hiram  wrought  for  Solomon  of  old, 
Enwreathed  upon  the  brazen  chapiters, 
Or  flowers  of  lilies  round  the  molten  sea. 
Innumerable  flowers  thus  bloom  and  blush 
In  heaven.     .     ,     . 

•  ••••• 

The  one  who  nestled  in  my  breast  had  seen 
All  of  earth's  year  except  the  winter  snows : 
Spring,  summer,  autumn,  like  sweet  dreams 

had  smiled 
On  her.     Eva  —  or  living  —  was  her  name; 
A  bud  of  life  folded  in  leaves  and  love  ; 
The  dewy  morning-star  of  summer  days ; 
The  golden  lamp  of  fireside  happy  hours ; 
TJie  little  ewe-lamb  nestling  by  our  side  ; 
10 


X46  THE  EMPTY  CRIB. 

The    dove    whose    cooing    echoed    in    our 

hearts ; 
The  sweetest  chord  upon  our  harp  of  praise '. 
The  quiet  spring,  the  rivulet  of  joy. 

Many  of  my  readers  will  doubtless 
thank  me  for  adding  to  these  striking  lines, 
the  following  exquisite  letter  of  Arch- 
bishop Leighton,  addressed  to  a  bereaved 
brother : — 

"  I  am  glad  of  your  health,  and  recovery 
of  your  little  ones ;  but,  indeed,  it  was  a 
sharp  stroke  of  a  pen  that  told  me  your 
pretty  Johnny  ^2iS>  dead;  and  I  felt  it 
truly  more  than,  to  my  remembrance,  I 
did  the  death  of  any  child  in  my  lifetime. 
Sweet  thing  !  —  and  is  he  so  quickly  laid 
to  sleep?  Happy  he  !  Though  we  shall 
have  no  more  the  pleasure  of  his  lisping 
and  laucrhincr,  he  shall  have  no  more  the 
pain  of  crying,  nor  of  being  sick,  nor  of 
dying ;    and    hath    wholly    escaped    the 


CHILDREN  IN  HEAVEN.         147 

trouble  of  schooling,  and  all  other  suf- 
ferings of  boys,  and  the  riper  and  deeper 
griefs  of  riper  years,  —  this  poor  life  being 
all  along  nothing  but  a  linked  chain  of 
many  sorrows  and  many  deaths.  Tell 
my  dear  sister  she  is  now  much  more 
akin  to  the  other  world ;  and  this  wdll 
quickly  be  passed  to  us  all.  Johnny  is 
but  gone  an  hour  or  tsvo  sooner  to  bed,  as 
children  use  to  do,  and  we  are  undressing 
to  follow.  And  the  more  we  put  oif  the 
love  of  this  present  world,  and  all  things 
«ifperfluous,  beforehand,  we  shall  have 
the  less  to  do  when  we  lie  down.  It 
shall  refresh  me  to  hear  from  you  at  your 
leisure. 

"  Sir,  your  affectionate  brother, 

"  R.  Leighton. 
••  Edinboro',  January  i6th,  1677." 


ONLY  A  BABY'S   GRAVE. 


ONLY  a  baby's  grave  ! 
Some  foot  or  two,  at  the  most, 
Of  star-daisied  sod  ;  yet  I  think  that  GoJ 
Knows  what  that  little  grave  cost. 

Only  a  baby's  grave  ! 

To  children  even  so  small 
That  they  sit  there  and  sing,  so  small  a  thing 

Seems  scared}'  a  grave  at  all  I 


Only  a  baby's  grave  ! 

Strange,  how  we  moan  and  fret 
For  a  little  face  that  was  here  such  a  space  I- 

Oh  !  more  strange,  could  we  forget ! 


ONLY  A  BABY'S   GRAVE,         149 

Only  a  baby's  grave  ! 

Did  we  measure  grief  by  this, 
Few  tears  were  shed  on  our  baby  dead  ; 

I  know  how  they  fell  on  this. 


Only  a  baby's  grave  ! 

Will  the  little  life  be  much 
Too  small  a  gem  for  his  diadem, 

Whose  kingdom  is  made  of  such? 

Only  a  baby's  grave  ! 

Yet  often  we  come  and  sit 
By  the  little  stone,  and  thank  God  to  own 

We  are  nearer  to  Him  for  it. 


A  WALK  IN  GREENWOOD 


/^THER  people  hereabouts,  when  they 
wish  to  get  away  from  brick  and 
mortar,  and  feast  their  eyes  on  verdure 
and  foliage,  go  to  Central  Park,  or  to  its 
new  rival,  the  Prospect  Park,  of  Brook- 
lyn ;  but,  for  some  years  past,  my  own 
favorite  resort  has  been  the  beautiful  and 
incomparable  Greenwood,  It  has  no  rival 
in  the  world.  "Nothing  that  I  have  ever 
seen  in  Europe  compares  with  this,"  said 
Newman  Hall  to  me,  as  we  stood  on  Syl- 
van Cliff,  on  a  golden  day  of  last  Octo- 
ber ;  and  he  added,  "  Nothing  I  have  yet 


A    WALK  IN  GREENWOOD.       151 

seen  in  America  gives  me  such  an  im- 
pression of  wealth,  taste,  and  refinement 
as  this  exquisite  spot."  Old  Jeremy  Tay- 
lor says  that  it  is  good  to  knock  often  at 
the  gates  of  the  grave ;  and,  truly,  there 
is  no  terror  in  death  to  one  who  only  has 
to  look  forward  to  bewitching  Greenwood 
as  the  resting-place  of  his  body,  and  to 
Heaven  as  the  dwelling  of  his  ransomed 
soul. 

Yesterday  I  went  to  Greenwood  alone. 
How  often,  in  times  past,  have  I  walked 
there  with  a  pair  of  little  feet  tripping  be- 
side me,  which  now,  alas  !  are  laid  under 
a  mound  of  green  turf  and  flowers.  The 
night  before  the  precious  child  departed, 
having  wearied  himself  with  play,  he 
quaintly  said,  "My  little  footies  are  tired 
at  both  ends."  Ere  twenty-four  hours 
were  past,  the  tired  feet  had  ended  life's 
short  journey,  and  were  laid  to  the  dream- 


152  THE  EMPTY  CRIB. 

less  rest.  Thousands  and  thousands  of 
other  little  children  are  slumbering  around 
him  ;  for  Greenwood  is  one  vast  nursery, 
in  which  cribs  give  place  to  little  caskets 
and  coffins,  and  no  one  is  afraid  to  speak 
loud  lest  they  wake  up  the  silent  sleepers. 
Over  the  dust  of  these  sleeping  treasures 
are  hundreds  of  marbles  which  bear  only 
such  pet  names  as  "Our  Lucy."  or  "Our 
Willie,"  or  "Sweet  little  Carrie,  or  "Our 
Darling."  Close  beside  the  narrow  bed, 
so  dear  to  me,  lie  a  pair  of  children  in 
one  spot,  and  on  the  tiny  marble  above 
them  is  carved  this  sweet  verse  :  — 

"Under  the  daisies  two  graves  are  made, 
Ujider  the  daisies  our  treasures  are  laid, 
Under  the  daisies?     It  cannot  be  thus; 
We  are  sure  that  in  heaven  thej  wait  for  us." 

What  a  celestial  cheerfulness  breathes  in 
such  words  I  How  like  to  a  guardian  an- 
gel's song  I     There  are  other  inscriptions 


A    WALK  IN  GREENWOOD. 


153 


scattered  through  the  cemetery  which  are 
equally  redolent  of  Christian  hope  and 
immortality.  For  example,  on  a  stately 
monument  is  written  only  the  name  of  the 
dead,  and  on  the  other  side  of  the  granite 
shaft  the  simple,  thrilling  announcement, 
"  The  Lord  is  Risen  I "  If  Christ  be  risen, 
then  is  the  believer's  glorious  resurrection 
made  certain  likewise.  What  a  contrast 
between  the  above  words  of  joyful  faith 
and  another  tomb,  which  bears  this  fear- 
fully startling  verse :  — 

"There  are  no  acts  of  pardon  passed 
In  the  cold  grave  to  which  we  haste ; 
But  darkness,  death,  and  long  despair 
Reign  in  eternal  silence  there." 

Awfully  true  as  may  be  the  utterance 
contained  in  these  lines  of  Watts,  yet  I 
should  not  care  to  have  it  preached  from 
my  monument. 

Several  tombs  bear  the  single  line,  ^^Our 


154  ^^^  EMPTY  CRIB. 

Mother,^''  No  inscription  in  the  whole 
city  of  the  dead  touched  me  so  tenderly  as 
the  one  word,  "  Good-night,"  on  the  tomb 
of  a  young  wife.  Perhaps  this  was  her 
last  utterance  as  the  twilight  of  the  "  val- 
ley" fell  upon  her  advancing  footsteps. 
Among  many  carved  clusters  of  lilies, 
myrtles,  and  violets,  we  often  discovered 
on  the  monuments  of  God's  departed  chil- 
dren this  flower,  from  the  Holy  Spirit's 
own  hand  :  "  Blessed  are  the  dead  which 
die  in  the  Lord."  This  is  the  amaranth 
which  angels  wreathe  above  the  sainted 
dead.  How  fragrant  it  is  with  the  love 
of  Jesus  ;  how  dewy  with  precious  prom- 
ises ;  how  it  glitters  in  the  light  which 
falls  from  the  sapphire  walls  of  the  New 
Jerusalem  !  Matchless  line  :  that  never 
grows  old,  and  never  stales  its  heavenly 
freshness !  If  there  be  any  line  which 
the  "  ministering  spirits  "  chant  above  the 


A    WALK  IN  GREENWOOD.       155 

sleeping  dust  of  Christ's  blood-bought 
heirs  of  glory,  it  must  be  this  one  which 
the  Spirit  taught  to  the  beloved  John. 
Not  as  a  dreary  dirge  do  they  chant  it ; 
not  as  a  melancholy  requiem :  it  is  a 
jubilant  paean  of  triumph  over  those  who 
have  come  off  more  than  conquerors, — 
whose  achievements  are  complete,  and 
for  whom  wait  the  "  robes  made  white  in 
the  blood  of  the  Lamb." 

In  my  stroll  yesterday  through  Green- 
wood, I  was  again  impressed  with  the  fact 
that  so  few,  even  of  the  most  eminent, 
sons  of  New  York  rest  in  New  York's 
most  famous  cemetery.  Clinton,  indeed, 
is  there,  buried  beneath  a  pedestal  which 
does  not  contain  his  name,  only  his  colos- 
sal bronze  statue.  Dr.  Bethune  sleeps 
there  among  his  beloved  flock.  Dr. 
Mitchell,  the  celebrated  New-York  chem- 
ist, lies  there  too ;  and,  not  far  oflf,  his 


156  THE  EMPTY  CRIB. 

illustrious  namesake,  the  hero-astrono- 
mer, who  fell  asleep,  with  his  sword  by 
his  side,  at  Port  Royal.  Soldiers  from 
the  "  Empire  City "  are  buried  in  nearly 
every  avenue  and  shaded  path,  with 
devices  of  cannon  or  sword  or  knapsack 
or  starry  flag  upon  their  monuments. 
But  Fulton,  the  chief  architect  of  our 
city's  material  grandeur,  lies  elsewhere, 
Washington  Irving,  the  most  celebrated 
of  her  sons,  has  his  sepulchre  at  the  en- 
trance of  his  own  "  Sleepy  Hollow."  Al- 
exander Hamilton,  Marcy,  Silas  Wright, 
and  Van  Buren  are  buried  among  their 
kindred ;  the  chivalrous  Wadsworth 
sleeps  in  the  valley  of  the  Genesee ;  and 
glorious  old  John  Brown  among  the  rocks 
of  North  Elba.  Greenwood  surpasses  all 
other  cemeteries  in  loveliness  of  land- 
scape, in  variety  and  splendor  of  its  mar- 
bles, and  in  entrancing  views;  but  it  is 


A    WALK  IN  GREENWOOD.       157 

not  a  Westminster  Abbey  in  its  roll  of 
illustrious  dead. 

Of  all  the  outlooks  in  Greenwood,  one 
of  the  finest  is  that  from  Battle  Hill.  New 
York,  Brooklyn,  the  bay,  and  the  forest 
of  masts,  are  all  beneath  you  in  one 
superb  panorama.  One  can  imagine  the 
departed  spirits  of  the  "merchant  princes  " 
looking  down  from  this  height  upon  the 
busy,  roaring  scene  of  their  life-toils. 
What  shall  it  profit  them  now,  if,  for 
3^onder  fleeting  treasures  of  the  bank  or 
the  warehouse,  they  bartered  away  their 
immortal  souls? 

To  me,  the  most  captivating  view  is 
from  Sylvan  Cliff,  overlooking  Sylvan 
Water.  On  that  green  brow  stands  a 
monument  which  bears  the  figure  of  Faith 
kneeling  before  a  cross,  and  beneath  it 
the  world-known  lines  of  Toplady :  — 

"Nothing  in  mj  hand  I  bring, 
Simply  to  Thy  cross  I  cling ! " 


158  THE  EMPTY  CRIB. 

As  I  stood  beside  that  graceful  tablet  yes- 
terday, the  light  of  an  October  sun  threw 
its  mellow  radiance  over  the  crimsoning 
foliage,  and  the  green  turf,  and  the  spark- 
ling water  of  the  fountain  which  played 
in  the  vale  beneath.  In  the  distance  was 
the  placid  bay,  with  one  stately  ship  rest- 
ing at  anchor,  —  a  beautiful  emblem  of  a 
Christian  soul  whose  voyage  had  ended 
in  the  peaceful  repose  of  the  "  desired  ha- 
ven." The  sun  went  down  into  the  pur- 
pling horizon  as  I  stood  there  ;  a  bird  or 
two  was  twittering  its  evening  song ;  the 
air  was  as  silent  as  the  unnumbered  sleep- 
ers around  me ;  and,  turning  toward  the 
sacred  spot  where  my  precious  dead  is 
lying,  I  bade  him,  as  of  old.  Good- 
night! 


THE   EMPTY  LITTLE   BED. 


MY  little  one,  my  sweet  one, 
Thy  crib  is  empty  now. 
Where  oft  I  wiped  the  dews  away 

Which  gathered  on  thy  brow. 
No  more  amidst  the  sleepless  night 

I  smooth  thy  pillow  fair : 
'Tis  smooth,  indeed  ;  but  rest  no  more 
Thy  darling  features  there. 

My  little  one,  my  sweet  one. 

Thou  canst  not  come  to  me ; 
But  nearer  draws  the  numbered  hour 

When  I  shall  go  to  thee  ; 
And  thou,  perchance,  with  seraph  smile, 

And  golden  harp  in  hand, 
May*st  come  the  first  to  welcome  me 

To  our  Immanuel's  land  ! 


REV.    DR.   CUYLER'S    WORKS. 


POINTED    PAPERS     FOR    THE  CHRIS- 
TIAN  LIFE $1.50 

THOUGHT   HIVES.     With  Portrait  ....  1.50 

CEDAR  CHRISTIAN 090 

STRAY  ARROWS 0.60 

EMPTY  CRIB 1.00 

GOD'S     LIGHT     ON      DARK     CLOUDS. 

Flexible,  red  edges   .     •• 0.75 

*'  In  this  beautiful  little  volume  the  author  presents  a 
grateful  offering  to  the  *  desponding  and  bereaved.'  .  .  . 
He  offers  to  others  what  he  has  tested  for  himself.  The 
book  is  written  out  of  a  full  heart  and  a  vivid  experi- 
ence."—  Presbyterian  Review. 


ROBERT  CARTER   &   BROTHERS, 

NEW     YORK. 


DATE  DUE 

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